


Through A PASIV Darkly

by Tabi_essentially



Series: Reach The Sea [5]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: BAMF!Saito, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Death, Dreaming, Happy Ending, M/M, Minor Canonical Character(s), Minor Character Death, Post-Canon, Saito as The Black Rider, pasiv, reference to past child abuse, the big under
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-04
Updated: 2016-06-04
Packaged: 2018-07-12 06:25:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7088905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tabi_essentially/pseuds/Tabi_essentially
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Saito calls on Arthur and Eames to help rescue his former lover from a coma, promising a huge payout. They travel to his mysterious ryokan in Takayama, Japan to do the job. But  ex-lovers and godawful family members show up, and of course, this job does not go as they planned. Do they ever?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written for [iheartthoreau](http://iheartthoreau.tumblr.com/), who was kind enough to take me up on my [prompt request](http://la-belle-laide.tumblr.com/post/145074834219/fic-auction-for-my-dog). She mostly left the story to me, but asked for something in the Reach The Sea 'verse, on the longer side, and with some jealous!Arthur. And I love me some jealous!Arthur. :D I really hope this satisfies! ^_^ Also, she wanted a happy ending, so, happy ending it is! Thank you so much! 
> 
> PLEASE FEEL FREE TO HIT UP THAT PAGE! :)
> 
> This is a direct sequel to Nine-Ten, but again, I don't think you _have to_ have read it to understand what's going on.
> 
> Also? This fic has [ a Pinterest!](https://www.pinterest.com/jules_kd/for-a-fic-im-writing/) :D You can see all the things and places that inspired it.
> 
>  
> 
> A few things real quick. I started writing this around the time that Prince died. I know that sounds weird, but he was a favorite of mine, and in fact “I Would Die 4 U” has always been on my Arthur/Eames playlist. The lyrics just really struck me; you know how it is when you've got your favorite pairing. :) I always wanted to write something inspired by it, and a few others. So I hope no one minds if the gist of that song made it into this fic.
> 
> Also, my headcanon is that Saito is a huge BAMF, even outside of his vast wealth. I love Saito, actually, and wanted him to have some fic-time. 
> 
> And sorry not sorry for the tongue-in-cheek title. ^_^

** ** ** **

The email from Saito changes everything. Arthur has to make some calls. He's waited long enough.

It's not like Arthur is hiding from Eames. He really did have a job go a little wonky, two weeks ago. It got dangerous toward the end, and he hadn't wanted to involve Eames. He hadn't wanted to involve anyone, really.

Maybe it hadn't been _dangerous_ dangerous—he and Eames had weathered far worse together—but why drag him back into that kind of stress? Especially after the last job, six months ago – if being kidnapped and shot full of street drugs could even be considered a “job.” That incident had brought them both so low, they had decided to stay away from each other, just to get their shit together. Separately.

And here it is past six months—winter now--and Arthur hasn't called him. Eames hasn't called either, and maybe it's time for Eames to call first. Why is Arthur always the one who calls? Not just Eames, but everyone. He wants to let someone else make the first move for once, but Saito specifically asked for Eames, so he doesn't have much of a choice.

He's spent the morning fretting about the email. Of course he's going to write back and tell Saito to contact him. He owes Saito that much and probably more by now. Saito will already have his number, but he'll wait until Arthur gives him the okay to use it. At least until his patience runs out. If he needs Arthur for something, it's probably pretty big. 

So when he's sitting in this really shitty long-term hotel in Seattle, Space Needle out his window and icy rain pouring down, and his phone vibrates—no name comes up—and it turns out to be Eames, it's a pleasant surprise: he doesn't have to be the first to call.

But then, on the phone, Arthur immediately starts making excuses for why _he_ didn't call. “I had a job a few weeks ago, and it didn't go so perfectly.”

He could slap himself. So he shuts up and lets Eames do some of the talking. Small talk, just some bullshit, until they run out of things to say to each other, and the silence borders on awkward.

“Anyway,” Arthur says, “I got an interesting email.” He tells Eames he doesn't know the details yet. Says that they can meet somewhere and talk about it, if Eames has the time.

Of course he does, Eames says, with warmth in his voice, and Arthur shouldn't feel this happy about it. He shouldn't be more excited about working with Eames than he is worried about whatever Saito wants.

“It's Saito,” he tells Eames.

“ _Sai_ to,” Eames says, gently correcting his pronunciation. “What is he after?”

“I don't know. All I have is this one email. Here, I'll read it to you.” He hasn't closed his laptop since reading it.

_'Dear Mr. Calloway,_

_You are easier to get in contact with than the rest of your team, and I understand that Mr. Cobb is in retirement. I would like to discuss with you a situation I find myself in, and possibly retain you and Mr. Eames for a job. My situation is both delicate and urgent. Let me know as soon as possible if you are willing to discuss this matter with me.”_

“ _You're_ the easiest to get in touch with?” Eames asks.

“For Saito, I guess,” Arthur says. “He knows me by my real name, and my military records are pretty easy to trace.” Eames's own real identity had been declared dead. In fact, he even has a tombstone in a cemetery in the UK.

It's a little awkward, feeling like he's the second choice—Saito would have gotten in touch with Eames, if he could have—but he gets it. He was the one who fucked up, Eames was the one who saved the inception job. He really can't be angry about it.

“Well, he obviously wants you on the job,” Eames says, as if reading his mind. “There are other ways of contacting me if he really needed to. And anyway, I prefer to do jobs with you taking point.”

“Umm, thanks,” Arthur says. “Me too. With you, I mean.”

“Well, get back to him, I suppose, and let me know where I'm to meet you.”

“You sure you're in?”

“For Saito? It's bound to be something bathed in cash and completely mad, of course I'm in.”

“I'll tell him to give me a call. He'll probably want us ready to go ASAP.” Arthur looks out the window at the grey, wet day. Time to move on, and he won't be sorry to go. It's way past time for him to come out of the shadows.

“Just let me know what plane to get on,” Eames says.

“I'll call you when I know,” Arthur says. 

 

** ** ** **

 

'Where to meet you' turns out to be a deserted Toyama airport. Saito's had it shut down for a few hours. Eames got off a private jet an hour ago, and is waiting in the small, silent terminal for Arthur, who is coming in on another private jet. Eames is a man of means; he's got enough money to be comfortable. But he'll never be “two private jets and and a closed airport” kind of rich, and he's all right with that.

It's strange, the airport being this quiet. A bit chilling, really.

Eames isn't sure which Arthur is going to step into the terminal. It boggles him, because _he_ is the chameleon of the dream world, and most everyone else knows only one Arthur: The one who had emerged after Mal's death. The Information Man; sharp, no-nonsense Arthur with a side-arm against his bespoke waistcoat and a moleskin and tablet in his satchel; the man who can get you what you need before you even know you need it. Most of them don't even know his last name. Aside from Eames, perhaps only Cobb knows where he's from, what his parents' names are, or that Mal was his cousin and his best friend.

Perhaps only Cobb knows about the burn scars on his shoulder and his hip, and how he got them. But Eames has seen those scars. Has touched them, even. Saw them back when they were fresher and more raw – when Arthur was fresher and more raw. He knew pre-Mal Arthur, the one with glasses and long, curling hair. He remembers that Arthur, and wonders if he'll ever see him again.

But the man who comes out of the airplane is inception-Arthur – the man who had created gravity in a dream. And it's a good look: smart, sleek, not to be fucked with. But Eames can't help, for a moment, missing what was.

He looks healthy though, Arthur does. Rested, more solid, happier, if Eames dares to assume. Happy to see him, when he looks up across the airport and meets his eyes? Maybe, but Arthur likes to work, and maybe that's why he seems in such high spirits. Eames won't assume any more than that, not until Arthur makes the first move.

Soon Arthur is right in front of him, carrying his satchel over one arm, (luggage to be delivered directly to their rooms, courtesy of Saito,) and Eames remembers how they somehow always fuck this up, every single time. One of them goes in for a kiss, the other goes for a handshake and they've never gotten it right. This time, Eames makes no move at all, and neither does Arthur. So he just smiles, and hopes it doesn't look like a leer, or a goofy, dumbstruck grin, because it might be. But Arthur is smiling, too.

“Mr. Eames,” he says.

Eames is _this close_ to answering, ' _Darling,_ ' but he sticks with “Hello, Arthur. You're looking well.”

“You, too,” Arthur says. “I'm glad you could make it.”

“Of course. Any details yet, from Saito? A hint, even?”

“No,” Arthur says. “He wants to meet us for dinner tonight. I guess we'll find out then.”

“I'll be honest with you,” Eames says, as they begin to walk down the terminal to the exit, “I'm hoping for something low-risk. I don't think I can take another high-stakes job yet. Not so soon after the last few.”

“I hear that,” Arthur says. “Although, it's Saito; I'm pretty sure he's got something unusual going on.”

“Unusual, but safe,” Eames says. “I hope.”

A car meets them outside of the small, private airport; a sharply-dressed driver has already loaded their luggage into the trunk and Eames notes that Arthur's got a few garment bags in there; he's obviously wearing his best for Saito. A few suits means a few days, at least. Eames is prepared to stay for however long it takes. It's cold; Arthur's already shivering under a winter coat. The driver doesn't even seem to notice the cold. Perhaps Saito pays him not to. 

“Tadashi?” Arthur says.

The driver turns around. “Ah, hello again, Arthur.”

“Wow, hi. You're working with Saito these days?”

“Have been,” the young man says, smiling. “But don't feel bad, it was after we tried to extract from him. Same as you.”

Arthur's eyebrows have about climbed to his hairline. “Wow. No, that's – that's great. Tadashi, this is Mr. Eames. Eames, Tadashi. We, uhh, worked together once, on a job before the Fisher case.”

Eames shakes his hand. Arthur knows that Eames knows who Tadashi is. Arthur had told him everything about that job. 

“I've heard a lot about you, Mr. Eames,” Tadashi says.

“Have you, now?” 

“What are you doing for Saito these days?” Arthur asks. 

“Security,” Tadashi says. “I'm good at sneaking around and finding things out. And, you know, Saito-san takes care of my family. He's a very good boss.”

“I'm sure he is,” Arthur says. “You have any idea what we're here for?”

“He'll tell you everything,” Tadashi says. “If you'll come along now?”

They both get into the back. Tadashi powers up a partition, so as not to overhear their conversation. Or perhaps so that they can't hear Saito talking to him? 

“Do you know where we're going?” Eames asks, as the car pulls out.

Arthur looks away from the partition and glances at his phone. “Umm, Takayama. I googled it; it's about an hour's drive. Saito keeps a place there. It's not his main residence; that's in...” He takes another look, scrolls a bit, “Azabu. He doesn't conduct any business out of Takayama, so it seems like a strange choice.”

Eames knows where and what Takayama is, and in fact it is not his first time in that particular neck of the woods. But Arthur hasn't been. He's had to google it. Again he is surprised that Arthur isn't who everyone thinks he is. He plays the part so well, he convinces even Eames.

“Takayama is quite something,” Eames says. But he's just as mystified as Arthur. It's not the kind of place he'd expect to meet with Saito.

“You've been there?” 

“I took a job in Japan a few years back. I stayed on for about a month, out of boredom. Desire to see the world and all of that. A member of my team showed me around. I must have seen all of Japan by now. But Takayama is really special.”

Arthur raises his eyebrows. “If you say so.”

“You'll like it,” Eames says. Or at least, he thinks Arthur will like it. Maybe not. Maybe it's too quiet for him, or not sleek or modern enough. It amazes him how little he actually knows. 

“I saw pictures of it,” Arthur says. “It looks pretty cool, all that historical architecture. I wonder what Saito is getting up to there.”

Of course Arthur is into the architecture, but this would be nothing like the square hotels he always dreams up.

The last time they'd been together, the plan had been to get to know each other outside of work. He's spent more time with Arthur in dreams than in real life, and it looks like he's about to do the same thing again. It strikes him suddenly, how depressing that is. 

“Oh, check it out,” Arthur says, and holds his phone up to show Eames a map. It shows a 'Saito's Ear Nose and Throat Clinic' right outside of Takayama. “Must be his,” Arthur says.

“Maybe. 'Saito' is a common last name around here, but, considering that he owns everything... Even the hotel we'll be staying at?”

“Oh. He has us staying in a...” Arthur looks down at his phone again, “a ryokan. Looks pretty impressive.”

“That makes sense. They can be very private. And if he didn't own it before, he probably does now.”

The drive is actually just under an hour, with so little traffic this time of year. Halfway in, modern stores, restaurants and structures thin out, in favor of quiet roads and thatched houses. Mountains loom in the distance, snowcapped. A light pattering of snow begins to fall.

“Good skiing up there,” Eames says. “Do you ski?”

“I did once or twice,” Arthur says. “My parents saved up for a ski trip when I was younger. Then another time I went with Dom and Mal. It's the kind of thing that would be fun if it wasn't so damn cold, you know?”

“Were you good at it?” Eames tries to picture him on the slopes, face obscured by mask and goggles.

“I was okay. It's just physics, so it wasn't as hard as I thought. Mal was really good at it though.” He's quiet for a moment, in a memory. “How about you?”

“Oh yes, I've skied tons,” Eames says. “Came in useful during the Fisher job. Maybe we'll make a trip here again one day, just for fun.”

Arthur smiles. “Worth a shot.”

Eames wasn't kidding about Saito having bought the ryokan, and, as turns out, he's not wrong. Tadashi pulls the car up to a deserted parking lot at dusk. They step out to the biting chill, and the silence of snow. The ryokan is surrounded by a forest of bamboo, lit softly by lanterns, beautifully lush even in winter. It's a romantic spot, and no mistake. Eames is even more mystified as to why Saito chose here.

“Wow,” Arthur says, going to grab his luggage by force of habit. 

“Allow me,” Tadashi says. “You're guests.”

Tadashi leads them inside, to a predictably empty lobby – gorgeous, with low lighting and dark wood, fragrant with incense and wood smoke. Saito stands waiting in front of a blazing fire-pit at the center of the room.

The change in him is drastic for just over six months. Dark smudges line his eyes; his mouth turns down at the corners. But he's dressed beautifully, and bows politely, spreading his arms in a welcoming gesture. Eames returns the bow. A second later, so does Arthur.

“Thank you both for coming,” Saito says. “Please come in and sit. We'll freshen up and eat first, and talk business later. You must be tired from your trip.”

“The flight was lovely,” Arthur says. The military in him takes over. He holds out his hand as he approaches Saito, shoulders back and spine straight. Shakes Saito's hand. “Thank you for the accommodations, sir. This is really beautiful.”

“You're very welcome,” Saito says. He always sounds amused when he speaks, yet it somehow doesn't offend Eames at all. He'd love to forge him one day, see how much he could get right. “I'll show you both to your rooms.”

They follow Saito down a dark-wood hall, to two rooms, across from each other. Saito unlocks each door. Eames enters his room to see his luggage is already there. He thanks Saito, removes his shoes in the small ante-room, then opens the shoji into the main room.

Some of it is traditional, like the long table, tatami mats, and sitting cushions, but the rest of it has been updated. It's heated, has European beds, and a telly. 

After a shower—quick, because now he's really curious—he gets dressed and heads back outside to meet Saito and Arthur in the main room.


	2. Chapter 2

Saito just kind of plucks around at his food. Arthur might not read people as easily as Eames does, but he recognizes when a man is troubled, so while they sit on cushions around the fire-pit, talking about the weather in Takayama, Arthur is dying to ask Saito what is actually going on.

Arthur's decent with chopsticks, having grown up in New York, and having had instruction from Mal, who did everything gracefully. The food is delicious, and the place is gorgeous. He googled the price of a stay, and, while he could do it, most people probably couldn't. He could enjoy himself here, unwind a little, if he ever got to stay for a while outside of business. And without Saito's fretting hanging over them like a dark veil. He'd never imagined Saito fretting. He has too much money to fret.

Eames keeps the conversation going, and keeps it light. Skiing, hot springs, festivals, local wildlife. Never a moment of pressure to speed things up and talk about the job. But Arthur is burning with curiosity now. 

When they finally finish (signaled by Saito leaning back from his plate and dabbing at his mouth with a cloth napkin,) a man—presumably Saito's chef--comes to take the plates away, and Saito says, “Now, gentlemen, I am sure you want to know why I brought you here.”

“Yes,” Arthur says. “Your email sounded urgent.”

“Urgent, yes, but not down to the minute. Not yet. Soon, I think – unless we can accomplish this mission.”

Arthur's shoulders tighten. This sounds like someone's life is on the line. Not the kind of job he was hoping for. 

“There is a hospital not far from here,” Saito says. “I've bought out a wing of it, for this week, for privacy. But we will be moving our work to this place.” He stops, swallows hard, and looks at Arthur. “You will probably remember Sonia. My mistress, as you called her. She's had an accident. And, to help her, this is the place we should set up our business. She loves this location, and I think it will help us accomplish our task.”

“I'm very sorry,” Eames says. “How bad was her accident?”

“Very.”

“She's in a coma,” Arthur says, because he doesn't have to ask.

“Yes.”

“You want us to get her out.”

“It's not as simple as that,” Saito says.

_You're damn right,_ Arthur thinks, but keeps this to himself.

He also keeps to himself his shock at Saito's concern for his mistress, whom he thought Saito had left after the Fisher case. She'd gone back to her husband, and he to his wife. Yet he's clearly grieving for her. It's possible, Arthur supposes, to love two people at once, and perhaps differently. He takes a look over to Eames, to see if he can glean what he's thinking.

Saito tilts his head at Arthur. “You have misgivings.”

“Well, yes. I've been in her mind once before. She'll know it's a dream.”

“Arthur,” Saito says, “aside from the fact that Sonia was not at all familiar with extraction when you and Mr. Cobb extracted our location from her, I can confidently say that she won't remember you. She might not even remember me.”

It was years ago, and, yes, it was an easy extraction. He'd done it to save his and Cobb's life when Cobol had run them down to nothing. If Arthur went around feeling guilty over every job he pulled, he'd never work again. That's not the issue here.

“You want to use the Nine-Ten compound,” he says. The words had just spilled out, the same moment that he thought them. Of course Saito wants to try it. The street drug that makes dreams manifest physically – Saito had bought into it, and had told them that he wanted his chemists to develop it to treat illness. They had used it to great effect, to treat Eames's beloved Mom when she had cancer. But that same drug had almost killed him and Eames, and had incapacitated both of them for months.

“We won't be using it,” Saito says. “My chemists have refined it, to make it safer to use, to lower the risk of side effects. But you have my word, none of that compound will enter either of your bodies, nor mine. Only hers.”

“So,” Eames says, “we use the usual compounds in our own lines, and the PASIV alone to get into her mind. And then? Without a team of doctors, we can't convince her body to heal itself. We don't have the skill set.”

“You won't need it,” Saito says. “She is mistrustful of doctors, and believes more in prayer. Her faith is very strong.”

Eames sits back and rubs his fingers along his mouth. And again he asks, “How bad is she?”

Saito offers nothing more than a wistful smile. “It's been a long day. She will be moved here tomorrow, at which time we can discuss her condition, and make a plan. And then, you can decide if you still want to help us. Until then, I suggest we all get some rest. I want both of you to be comfortable, and to make use of the luxuries this ryokan offers. Please feel free to confer with each other in private, if you like.”

 

** ** ** **

 

They meet up at night, bundled up outside because Arthur wanted a look at the grounds, and together they walk to the bridge over the stream. 

Arthur looks good; Eames would like to do more than just “confer” with him, but this was not the job he was expecting. Arthur seems at a loss, too. 

“I don't feel like I'm in a position to tell him no,” Arthur says. The sky has cleared up; the snow has stopped, and the full moon shines brighter than the soft, warm-colored lights that line the bridge. At the other end of the bridge, there are some wooden steps going up a hill, leading to a footpath that goes into the woods. Probably beautiful in the spring. 

Eames leans on the red-painted railing overlooking the stream. Better to stare off into the dense woods, than to stare at Arthur.

“Why can't you say no?” Eames asks.

“Seriously?”

It irritates him, the way Arthur constantly eats himself up with guilt over the inception job. “Yes, seriously. Why?”

“Because he saved my life on the last job? Because I ran an extraction on Sonia years ago and now she's dying? Because I'm the one that got Saito sent to limbo on the Fisher case? Any of that ringing a bell?”

“I don't see how Saito was your fault,” Eames says, then holds up a hand before Arthur can go on defending this stupidity. “None of it would have been an issue had we been forewarned about the compound.”

“Yes it would have,” Arthur says, “because even if we had known, Fisher still would have been militarized.”

“That kind of intel is impossible to come by, for one thing. For another--”

“But it was my--”

“ _For another thing_ ,” Eames goes on, “let's pretend that we did know both about the compound and about his militarization. Saito still would have insisted on coming down with us. He still would have been a tourist, and he still would have gotten shot down there. Come on, you know he would have. It would have played out exactly the same.”

“There's no way to know that,” Arthur says.

Eames should really know better than to argue about this. Arthur needs this guilt for some reason and he doesn't want to get into it with him. “The point is that, yes, you can walk away from it if you want to. Saito will be disappointed, but he won't seek revenge. And if you walk, I'll walk, too.”

“And if I don't?”

“Then I'll stay, too.”

Arthur sighs, annoyed with him right back. “Don't put that on me. Do it if you want to. If it goes wrong, I don't want whatever happens to you on my conscience too.”

“It won't be. I'm making my own decision.” Even as he says it, he knows that it would just kill Arthur if something happened on this job. “I'm keen to try. Saito won't punish us for walking out, but the rewards, if we help him, or even if we try to, would be immense.”

He can't tell if Arthur buys this. It's not entirely bullshit. The payout is going to be grand, even if they just agree to try. But he doesn't scoff, so that's a good sign. 

“Besides,” Eames says, and this part is the truth, “did you see him in there? He's devastated. I'd feel like an arsehole, walking out on him.”

“I wonder why he's so invested in this,” Arthur says. 

“He loved her,” Eames says. “And he's got a guilty conscience for setting her up for your team to extract from. And probably for splitting with her.”

“I know. But people die.”

“You wouldn't go out of your way to save an ex?” Eames asks. 

“I don't know. It depends on the circumstances. You can't save everyone.” 

“Yet we went out of our way to do the same thing for my Mum, didn't we?”

“Yes. Of course, but that was so low-risk. I wonder if his wife knows.”

“Of course she knows,” Eames says. “Do you think she doesn't take lovers, too? They've got an arrangement. Lots of people live like that, particularly powerful people who can afford to. To Saito, this _is_ low risk, and possible gain.”

Arthur nods, but otherwise doesn't answer. Instead, he stares above the bamboo, at the full moon.

“I could never see the rabbit,” he says.

“What?”

Arthur nods toward the moon. “The rabbit in the moon. I can't make it out. But then I also can't see a man in the moon either.”

“No?”

He looks at Eames. “Nope. Of course you can, right?”

“I can see them, if I shift my perception a little.”

“I guess I don't have pareidolia.”

Eames laughs. “You say it as if it's an affliction.” When Arthur doesn't answer, Eames takes his phone out of his pocket and looks up an image of the Moon Rabbit. He shows it to Arthur.

“Oh!” Arthur says, taking the phone. “The rabbit is bending over.” He looks up again. “Yeah, I guess I can see that. A little.”

He hands the phone back to Eames. Arthur's hands are cold. Eames can't say what hits him in that moment, but before he's made a conscious decision, he's running his hand over the fabric of Arthu'r coat sleeve, up to his elbow. Arthur looks surprised for a moment, before Eames draws him in.

“Okay,” Arthur says, just before Eames kisses him. It's too cold for this kind of thing outside, but he's got his hand on Arthur's lower back, Arthur's hand at the back of his neck, and he feels like his skin is burning. It's real, this time. Not fueled by desperation, or the street drug that had turned them into addicts the last time they did this. The same drug Saito wants to use on his dying mistress - and there goes the mood.

Arthur senses it, and pulls away. After searching Eames's eyes for a few moments, he says, “Yeah, maybe we shouldn't. On the job, I mean.”

“Yes, quite right.” 

They separate, and Eames goes back to leaning in the rail, looking out into the trees. He's deep in his own thoughts until Arthur says, “Shh.”

He's this close to telling Arthur to stop shushing him since he hadn't made a sound in the first place, but then he hears the noise, too: something rustling among the bamboo. They glance at each other out of habit, and then toward the noise, following its movement as it comes closer. Arthur drops his hand, like he's reaching for a weapon. But Eames is more curious than worried. It doesn't sound big enough to be a human.

The rustling stops, and a small figure darts out of the trees onto the snow-covered steps that lead up to the path. It's a fox, staring at them with luminous eyes.

Arthur pulls something out of his pocket. His phone, Eames realizes, and goes for his own.

Eames snaps the picture quickly, hardly checking to see if he's even got the shot. Arthur taps his screen, and his flash goes off. The fox darts away.

“Your flash scared it,” Eames says.

“But I got a shot, check it out.”

Arthur shows Eames the picture. A crisp, too-bright image of the fox staring at them. Eames shows his: a soft-focus, dreamlike fox-impression with glowing eyes. His is better, artistically, but he'll never say so.

“Cool,” Arthur acknowledges. He puts his phone away and says, out of nowhere: “Did we ever...?”

“What?”

“I must have dreamed it, but I have this memory of us being in the woods one time, and seeing, like, a wolf or... some kind of animal. It's ridiculous. Did we ever dream that together?”

_It wasn't a wolf_ , Eames thinks, and doesn't know why. “Maybe,” he says, shrugging. “We've done a lot of jobs. There are always those natural, unscripted thoughts that creep in when you're roaming around someone else's head.” But the feeling in his gut, this urge toward Arthur when he tries to remember a thing like that, is not so casual.

“True.” Arthur looks up at the sky, as if the stars will give him the answer he's looking for. They don't. He sighs, tucks his phone away and says, “Tomorrow's going to be pretty hectic. I'm gonna try to get some sleep.”

“Good luck with that,” Eames says.

Before he leaves, Arthur takes his hand, just squeezes his fingers for a moment before letting go. A small 'this is not over, it's just on hold,' gesture that Eames didn't expect. It leaves him feeling warm.

Arthur goes back into his room, but Eames stands outside in the cold for a while, listening to the stream, wondering what tomorrow will bring.

 

** ** ** **

 

What tomorrow brings, it turns out, is Saito's comatose mistress, and the chemist that Saito has brought on.

Arthur's sitting at the fire again. It's warm enough in here, and Arthur has to roll up his sleeves. Saito looks less formal, too, so Arthur hopes he doesn't mind. When Eames comes down from his room, he's wearing dark trousers, and a tidy, but casual shirt, open at the collars. He looks ridiculously fresh and stupidly beautiful and Arthur wishes this was any other job than trying (and probably failing) to help Saito's dying lover. Or, better yet, no job at all. How nice it would be to just _be_ here with Eames. There's something about it—the dark wood, the closed-in beauty, the privacy—that comforts him.

Once Eames is seated at the fire-pit, the same man from yesterday brings them breakfast. Arthur looks for a name-tag and doesn't find one. The man doesn't make eye contact when Arthur thanks him. They eat quietly, making small talk again, this time about the fox they saw last night, until, again, Saito indicates that he's ready to talk about business.

When he speaks, he doesn't sound business-like. Arthur hasn't ever seen him like this.

“I bought this place a few years ago,” Saito says. “Sonia liked it.”

He loved her, maybe still does. Arthur had thought he just cared for her or was fond, or felt guilty for setting her up. Or for leaving her. But that's love he's seeing. 

“But, let's begin to make our plan,” Saito goes on. “Within the hour, a medical team will bring her from the hospital to a room we have set up. A doctor will stay in the room with her at all times. Sonia is not fond of doctors, but of course, at a time like this, they are necessary.”

He speaks as if she will be at all aware of the people around her. Arthur is getting the feeling that, when they get down to it, she's not going to be aware of _anything._

“What's her condition,” Arthur asks, as gently as he can, “in terms of brain function?”

“She is in a vegetative state,” Saito says. “Her brain function is minimal. But it is there. There's a spark. Medicine confirms that neurons can rebuild, if enough thoughts and feelings are available. We have the gift of the PASIV. We can go into minds and put thoughts into them. Rebuild the landscape. And then use the compound to convince her mind to heal the body.”

He and Eames both remain quiet for a moment, thinking. It's Eames who breaks the silence. “This is a big job,” he says. “I don't mean that it's labor-intensive, personally, to attempt. It isn't. We don't have to dig for intel or spy on anyone, or go undercover. What I mean is, this is a tremendous step we're taking in terms of using technology like this. Even to attempt it is... I mean, it's going deep, it's using new compounds, going into an unresponsive mind where there might not even be a dream to get into, and then performing an inception.”

“If it's too much for you, Mr. Eames...”

“It isn't,” Eames says. “All I'm saying is that this will be a first in many ways, and we can't know what to expect. It might not work.”

“I realize that,” Saito says. “I'm prepared for either outcome.”

“There are more than two,” Eames says.

“I have a question,” Arthur cuts in. “Just... just thinking about past cases involving inceptions and... I know we've done it before, but this time it bears asking. Is this what she wants? I mean, this is an experiment, and Eames is right, we don't know what will happen. Would she approve of this?”

“I believe she would,” Saito answers. “She prefers alternative healing, and the power of positivity, to doctors. In my heart, I feel this is what she wants.”

Which, of course he believes that she approves. He wants to believe it. If Arthur was in the same situation with Eames, he'd believe it, too. He'd believe anything just so that he could try it. It's easy to think that everyone wants to live, no matter what. But to incept someone into life – who knows how that could change a person? If it worked, what would she do to hold onto that life in the future? Would the fear of death eat up the rest of her time on earth? 

But in the end, he's not going to say no. And it's not out of curiosity or even the need to do the right thing. It's because Saito saved his ass on that last job. Without Saito's cooperation and help, Arthur would be dead. There's no question.

And, while it might serve Saito better to walk away from this, they would never know the outcome. And Saito would come to resent that. What Saito wants is an attempt – to be able to say he tried everything. Arthur gets it.

Later, after breakfast, he and Eames wait awkwardly in the main room while a transport vehicle brings Saito's mistress around the back. It's noisy, even though the medics are trying to keep their voices down. Arthur can't understand any of the Japanese, but the sound of medical equipment being set up is its own language. For a time, he and Eames just stare at each other in quiet disbelief. This isn't a job, it's a hospice. 

The worst part of it, somehow, is that it breaks the peace of the ryokan. There's something about this place that Arthur loves, that settles whatever is always running around crazy inside of him. This hospital shit sets that crazy off again.

Eventually, they both decide to go outside, winter be damned, because it's better than listening to monitors beeping and the hiss of breathing machines.

Outside, snow continues to fall. The air is so dry and brittle Arthur can barely breathe. They're not out five minutes, and just starting to second-guess themselves again, when the same car that brought them yesterday, again driven by Tadashi, pulls up to the front. 

Arthur looks at Eames, who shrugs. A specialist, maybe? Another team member? He feels unprepared to talk to anyone who might step out of that car.

The door opens, and the man who steps out is tall, stunningly dressed, with a long, sweeping overcoat. He's got sleek, dark hair, and vivid blue eyes. He looks up, sees Eames, and flashes a stupidly handsome smile. 

“Eamesy!” he says. “I had no idea!” British, too. Because of course.

“Oh!” Eames says. He leaves Arthur's side to go and greet this new man. Not with a handshake, but with a tight hug. “So good to see you, mate!” he says.

Arthur's probably frowning, though he's really trying not to. He likes—needs, really—to know who everyone is, especially on a job, and especially on a job like this one. 

“Arthur,” Eames says, pulling the man over with an arm around his shoulders, “this is Jared, Jared Serafino. We served together, ages ago.”

Ah, right. So that's something. 

“You must be Arthur Calloway, then,” Jared says.

Arthur puts on a formal smile, shakes his hand and says, “Pleasure.”

Eames turns back to Jared and says, “Are you Saito's chemist now?”

They chat back and forth for a full minute while Arthur stands there freezing.

_Jared._

_Serafino._

Of _course_ this guy has a name like _Jared Serafino_ , what else would he be called? Eames is standing there yammering to him like they've known each other since childhood, and Arthur has never heard of this guy. Not once in all his dreaming years. He could have changed his name – after all, Eames did. But Eames has never spoken of him. Fair enough: Arthur served with some people, too, and has probably never mentioned them to Eames, because they just never came up in conversation. But if he's been in the dream community, Arthur should have heard of him.

That's the problem, and that is his _only_ problem. This guy is not on his radar, and none of this has been cleared with him. And yeah, of course, this is not his job and he's not calling the shots, but he should at least have been given a name beforehand. It's clear that Saito has got other things on his mind, so he can't exactly get on his case for it.

He wants to pull Eames aside and ask him every detail: What's his work like, where did Saito find him, and for fucksake, why has Arthur never heard of him? But the two of them are laughing like the old military buddies they obviously are.

Finally Arthur says, “If you don't mind, I'm going to head inside where there's heat, and get started on the job.”

Eames gives him a surprised look, and then, for a moment, the look he gets before he shoots down one of Arthur's ideas. Then he rethinks and says, “Quite right, too bloody cold out here.”

Arthur is irritated. Not because _Jared Serafino_ is some kind of hot shit—Arthur would be attracted himself, if this wasn't a clusterfuck of a situation—but because it's negative a million degrees, the job he's already unsure of now has a whole other layer of “unknown shit” he can add to the dossier, and a woman is dying a few doors down from his.

He wishes he'd never answered that email.

 

** ** ** **


	3. Chapter 3

Eames has always had a good read on Arthur, and now is no exception. It's all right there in his tight shoulders and closed hands. He talks with his hands, Arthur does, and he's not talking now. They head inside, into the main room with the fire pit. Jared—real name Ian Harrington—chats to Eames about the trip over, how honored he is to be asked to work with Saito, how gorgeous this place is.

He's changed. Had his teeth done, wears blue contacts, darkened his hair. He's been underground for a while, since before Eames was even in Project Somnacin. They were close, when they served. They have been in the shit together, a long time ago, and Eames would like to feel like he can still trust him. But time and dreaming can change a person, and besides, Eames has known better people since. He's known Arthur.

But he also knows that Arthur's frustration is going to spiral if he doesn't talk to him about this, and he can't, because now Saito is coming out of Sonia's room, ready to detail them.

Saito looks like hell, but he has a way of making you think that he doesn't, if you don't look too closely. He sounds a little hoarse when he welcomes Jared to the team and invites him to lunch before they talk. Eames really wants to take Arthur to his room, to explain that he had no idea Jared was on the team, and that whatever they got up to back in the day is long since over. And then maybe give him a snog just to prove it. But it would be rude to step out now, with Saito trying to focus on getting them synced up.

Eames is getting the idea that the job itself doesn't matter. It's not about what they do or accomplish. This entire exercise is just for Saito. He can't let this news land. If he has a plan, he can stop himself thinking about what is almost surely the imminent death of his lover.

And Eames gets that, because he does it, too. So he can't take this moment away from him.

They sit once more around the fire. They eat again, making small talk, until Jared brings up the job, asking when they are going to get started.

Eames gives him a look: _Not now._ Arthur suppresses a scowl. No – not a scowl. Too self-satisfied. He might be shit at the Japanese language, but even he knows better than to jump on Saito like that during their meals. 

But Jared gets the hint, and pipes down for now.

Again, the same server takes their plates away, and Saito sits back.

“I want to thank you all for coming,” he says. “Mr. Serafino, I spoke to you last week. And since then, I've detailed Mr. Eames and Mr. Calloway on Sonia's condition...”

“Terrible,” Jared says. “I'm so sorry for your situation.”

Saito waits a moment, just long enough to give the impression of being taken aback, and then he nods, gracious. “And now that we all know why we're here, perhaps we can discuss a plan of action. I must admit to you, I am at a loss as to where to begin. Perhaps if any of you have questions for me, we can open a discourse.”

“I have a question,” Arthur says, because of course he does, and Eames knows what it's going to be, or at least who it's going to be directed at. “What compounds will we be using, exactly? Each of us. And how much has the Nine-Ten changed since it was a street drug? How will it differ when we use the compound on …” He turns to Saito, changes his entire demeanor and says, “Is it all right if I call her Sonia?” 

That small kindness causes an instant and profound change in Saito's eyes, there and then gone. Sometimes Arthur doesn't get people, at least not the way Eames does, but he knows that politeness doesn't fail in any situation. Saito nods. 

“A good question,” Jared says. “So, I did some research on the Nine-Ten's history before it went legit. I've been working with that in laboratory settings and I've been pretty amazed at the results, so this is really exciting. And the rest of us are just using regular old Somnacin, aren't we?”

Arthur leans in. “So you won't be using a sedative on her?”

“Well, no need, really,” Jared says. 

“But can you say how the compound might affect her brain function?” Arthur looks at Saito, who looks at Jared for a response. 

“That's a good question,” Eames admits.

Before Jared can answer, Arthur blurts out, “Did you talk to Yusuf about these compounds? Since he was one of the first ones to use them in this context. To try to heal someone, I mean.” 

That someone being him, but of course, Arthur will never say that in front of Jared.

The look that Saito gives him now is less kind than before. “I worked with Yusuf the last time because I had no choice. Now that I do, I prefer to chose a chemist who did not take the cut I offered to another party, in exchange for keeping the details of his sedative from the rest of his team.”

Arthur backs off. 

Saito turns to Jared, and gestures for him to answer the question.

“Well, yes,” Jared says, “I have used this compound on patients in vegetative states. The outcomes are as varied as their conditions. It could help her, as we hope. It could also do nothing. I'm sorry, Mr. Saito, I really can't make any promises. All I can say is that it can't make her any worse. If she's already in a vegetative state, then what harm? And she's on life support, so a compound won't have the ability to stop her heart or lungs. But she will die anyway, if we don't try; isn't that right?”

Saito answers with a nod.

“So if we at least try...” Jared says.

“Then I will have no regrets,” Saito finishes. 

They remain quiet for a few moments, no sound but the crack and pop of the fire, and the distant beep and whir of the machines down the hall. 

Finally Eames says, “I have a few thoughts on where to begin.”

Arthur gives him the expected small smile and a slight eye-roll. 

“Before we even decide what we're going to construct, and what we want to do in the dream, we have to figure out our beliefs—our actual ones—and consciously put them aside. We've got to discuss this first, and then really think about it, before we even go into her mind. This is a delicate thing we're doing here. It could change her forever, and it could change us.”

Arthur shrugs. “I don't really have any belief system.”

“You might not,” Eames says, “but you were still raised in a specific culture, and these things are ingrained. We all have belief constructs so deeply held, we're not even aware of them. I'll use myself as an example. My father was ostensibly a Christian. Church of England. He wasn't really, not in practice. He was a terrible and petty man, who hardly believed in anything, but used the system to try to control others. I don't have those beliefs myself. But they're still there, aren't they, lurking in my dreams. Do you understand? And a thing like this could affect what we tell Sonia, whether we mean to or not.”

Saito stares at him, eyebrows raised. Arthur does, too. Jared nods sagely, as if he's known this for years. And, hell, actually he does know about Eames's father. Eames had told him everything.

“I don't believe in hell,” Eames goes on. “But hell might be lurking somewhere in my fourth level down, regardless. And I want to make sure I'm aware of it before I go into the mind of someone who is religious, and who might be looking at eternity.” He aims this question to Saito. “Do you see what I'm saying?”

Saito clears his throat. “That death, though an instant for us, might be limbo for her. An eternity, because of time dilation. Is that what you mean?”

“Yes,” Eames says, as softly as he can. “Exactly.”

“Let's give that some thought,” Jared says, “definitely. But in the meantime, we should also have a plan.”

A slight scowl from Arthur at that, but he doesn't disagree. Instead he asks, “Is Eames going to forge someone? Am I building the dream?”

“Yes,” Saito says, as if he's just woken from a dream himself. “Yes, I'm a poor architect, and this time we don't need mazes to keep out a shade; just someone who can reconstruct this place from memory. Can you do that?”

“Yeah,” Arthur says, “I'll need a few more hours to look around, and you can tell me about anything specific you need her to see. But sure, I can do that. And the forgery?”

Saito looks at Eames. “Her mother, I think. She died when Sonia was young, but she's always kept a photograph of her. You won't need to say much, or anything at all, possibly.”

“All right,” Eames says. _I guess we're really doing this._

“So,” Arthur says, pulling his moleskin out of his bag, “let's start planning.”

 

** ** ** **

 

The plan for the dream is too loose, too open to interpretation, and Arthur doesn't like that. He'll never have time to really look at all of the buildings in this ryokan, and he doesn't like that either. Saito is trying to put off his grief, there might not even be a dream to get into, and Eames made a damn good point about everyone's deeply-held beliefs fucking this whole thing up, and all of that makes for a really risky job. Arthur is all right with risks, as long as he knows what they are. He can't even list all of the possible risks and outcomes of this one, and he straight up hates that.

He doesn't know who Jared Serafino is, and that is really, really kind of fucking him up. Eames is off looking at pictures of Sonia's mother, and talking to Saito about her, so he hasn't had a chance to ask him privately. 

He walks outside of the main building into the overcast, late afternoon chill, and keeps walking until the wooden path leads him to the footbridge that goes over a small waterfall. He turns, and looks up at the ryokan. Its structures are easy enough to remember, but even experienced dreamers can lose sight of what really makes the dream: sense memory. How dry the air is – but how lush it must be in summer. The slightly chlorine scent of the water. How even the bridge is under his feet. The way the snow sticks to the branches of the dense trees. He has to imagine what it must be like here in Spring, in Autumn, and in Summer.

He takes out his moleskin and a pencil, and starts sketching it out. The physical act of creating it on paper cements it into his mind.

Cobb used to to tell students to never build from memory, but Cobb is a bullshitter because he always built from memory, and he taught Arthur to do the same. It's completely unfair of Eames to tell Arthur that he has no imagination. He doesn't need imagination in this situation; he just needs his senses and a vivid memory. He wonders if Jared Serafino has some kind of great imagination. 

He feels eyes on him, hears the footbridge creak, and doesn't even have to turn around. Of course it's Eames. Arthur knows the sound of his approach – and when did he even learn that? 

Eames comes up behind him, wraps a hand around his elbow and says, “I've only got a moment. We all do, actually. This job is moving way too fast. But his name is Ian Harrington. I know you'd never be able to concentrate unless I told you.”

Arthur turns to him, irritated because it's just a little more than that, isn't it? How far is a name going to get him in the few hours he has to prepare?

“Do you vouch for him?” Arthur asks. 

Eames shrugs. “It was a long time ago. Back then? He was an old oppo of mine, solid as they come. Would not leave any team member behind.”

_Did you sleep with him?_ Arthur wants to ask, but he really does not want to be that person. 

“But so many years can change a person,” Eames says. “So see what you can find.”

Jared—Ian Harrington—comes out through the automatic doors of the main building. Sees them, gives a wave, and starts to head over. Eames turns to meet him. Arthur grabs his arm.

“The chef, too,” he says. The words surprise him. He hadn't even realized he was thinking it. “The guy who keeps bringing the food. No name tag. I should ask Saito but...”

“But Saito obviously chose him, so he must trust him.”

“Right. I just, I hate it when I don't know my team; I can't work.”

“I'm not sure that guy is part of the team. He could be someone Saito paid off.”

“That actually makes it worse, Eames. Money is a shitty motivator.” 

Jared Serafino's gleaming smile is suddenly within Arthur's sphere, so he offers a tight smile of his own.

“Hello again,” Jared says. “Am I interrupting?”

Arthur doesn't answer.

Eames says, “Arthur's just trying to get a feel for the architecture and surrounding areas. I've been to this part of Japan before, so.”

“Ah,” Jared says. “Well, I'm off the hook until the actual job. Arthur, if you want, I can detail you on the compounds. I know you've had a run-in with the Nine-Ten before, so I understand your concerns.”

_Yeah, you'd love that; eat up all my research time._ “I appreciate that, but I should really... How did you know about my – my history with that stuff?” 

Jared looks taken aback for the barest of seconds. He gestures toward the ryokan. “Saito filled me in when I started working for his lab. He didn't mention you by name, but it was fairly obvious. Everyone knows about how you went down into the dream to get Eames out of it—Johnny Vale wouldn't stop talking about it, honestly--and the mess that followed it, with the unsanctioned experiments. Your escape from that laboratory, that's dreamshare legend, Arthur. You knocked Julian Prescott's block off. Everyone knows that.”

_Everyone knows, but Saito had to tell you? ___But, “I see,” is what Arthur says. “Well, thanks anyway, but I should really get back to my, uhh, my research on the buildings.”

“Absolutely,” Jared says. He turns to go, but then turns back to add, “Have you guys seen the onsen?” 

_Onsen_ ; Arthur remembers that word, it's a natural hot spring. 

Eames is quicker, though. “Not yet. Been too busy to think about going for a dip, honestly. I don't even know where it is.”

Jared points behind the main building. “If you follow the hallway from your rooms all the way down, you go out the back door, down a winding stairway and there it is. But, yes, as you said. Far too busy this time around.”

“Have you been here before, Jared?” Eames asks.

“Oh, yes. I've been working for Saito for a while now. I've come to this ryokan a handful of times just for pleasure. He leaves it open for us.”

_Us?_ Arthur has too many questions and not enough time. 

“See you both at dinner, I suppose,” Jared says. With a smile and a wave, he heads back inside.

Arthur relaxes his grip on the pencil before he snaps it, and takes a breath. 

Eames shrugs. “He's one of Saito's now. Hmm.”

“'Hmm'? What's 'hmm'?”

“He was like us, I guess. Never interested in being on retainer for anyone. But, on the other hand, the money...”

“Would you only work for Saito? For all the money in the world?”

“No. I guess I wouldn't.”

“And who the fuck is this doctor Saito has coming in? That's another person we don't know.” 

“Oh, a doctor Morash,” Eames says. “I overheard Saito talking to her.”

Arthur's tension is through the roof. His neck hurts, his shoulders ache, and he's starting to get a headache. Jobs should never move this fast. “I've got to go. I want to do some research.”

“Who are you going to hack?” Eames gives him a knowing little smirk.

“Everyone.”

But later, in his room, hacking solves nothing. He finds Ian Harrington's grave, all his records. He did serve with Eames, who was William Manwaring back then. He searches for Jared Serafino and finds a social media page about some tattoo artist. Arthur could hack everywhere and search for _himself_ and still come up with more info. This guy is a ghost. 

Doctor Morash turns out to be a highly regarded neurosurgeon with nothing dodgy in her history. 

Arthur doesn't come to dinner. The guy who's been serving them—another mystery—comes to the door and brings him a tray of food.

“I'm sorry,” Arthur says, taking the tray from him. “I feel really bad, I never got your name.”

“Yoshida Haruto,” the man says.

“I just wanted to thank you. You know, for cooking, bringing us food and everything. Thank you. Do you work for Saito?”

“You're welcome,” he says. “Yes, work for Saito.”

Arthur scratches the back of his neck, laughs a little. “Anyway, I'm really sorry. I should have thanked you earlier. But thanks for this, too. I appreciate it.”

He answers with a nod. Arthur isn't sure how much of that he got, but probably more than Arthur would understand if this man spoke to him.

“Good night,” Arthur says.

“Hai,” the man answers.

Once the door is closed, Arthur puts the tray of food down—he's starving, but this can't wait—goes to his computer and types in Yoshida Haruto, before he forgets. All he gets are more social media pages from different people. 

He goes back to his dinner. Maybe it's a good sign that nothing is turning up. Haruto must have been with Saito for a long time. He's just a chef, or course Saito has personal chefs. The best thing to do now is just ask Saito, as awkward and probably impolite as that's going to be. He has to. He won't do the job if he doesn't know who everyone is. 

So he finishes dinner, cleans up, and heads out of the room.

No one is by the fire, and he wonders where Eames is. Where Jared Serafino is, for that matter. Arthur goes back down the hall, passes Eames's door, and then turns around and goes back to it. Knocks. No answer. He stands outside and texts Eames. Again, nothing. He knocks again, louder, and waits, until quiet footsteps sound from down the hall.

He turns to see Saito coming towards him. Saito leans against the wall of the hallway, his hands in his pockets, a small, elegant smile on his face. 

“Mr. Eames asked to test the compound with Mr. Serafino,” Saito says.

“They're dreaming together?” Arthur's heart speeds up a little.

“You're mistrustful.”

“Yes. In general. It's my job to be mistrustful. I wasn't mistrustful enough on the Fisher case, if you recall.”

At this, Saito gives a short laugh. “And yet here we are, and I'm fine. Arthur, if you think I didn't have my own people looking through Mr. Fisher's dreaming background, you don't know me very well. I searched too. Even my people did not find his militarization. There's no way to know.”

Arthur opens his mouth to speak, finds he doesn't know what to say, and closes it.

“All we can be is honest,” Saito says. “You were. Others on your team were not. It's why I contacted you first. We all get taken in by someone, sometimes.”

“Do you trust everyone on this team?” Arthur asks. “Do you really know them? I just talked for a few minutes with... with Mr. Yoshida. He says he works for you?”

“Yes, in fact for a very long time. I have no concerns.”

“And Jared Serafino? You know his real name is--”

“Ian Harrington, yes. Arthur, we can only know what we know. At some point, we have to either let go of paranoia, or let it control us and never work again. I chose to work. But that doesn't mean you are obliged to. I contacted you because I trust in your ethics and your work. Not because you owed me anything.”

“I do, though.”

Saito laughs without merriment. “Then you may repay me at another time. There are no obligations this time.”

“I want to help. I want to do the job. I just need to know who I'm working with.”

“Mr. Serafino could have killed Mr. Eames by now. Would you like to check? I've got a key.”

“No.” Yes. He really does. But the idea of him barging in on them like some kind of jealous, overprotective lover is revolting. 

“Come with me,” Saito says. He steps back and holds out his arm, a regal 'this way' gesture. 

Arthur takes a few steps, but then Saito leads the way down the hall. Toward Sonia's room.

“You don't have to--” Arthur begins. 

“Please,” Saito says. A short syllable that does not actually mean 'please.' Arthur follows him into the room.

He hates this smell - machinery, antiseptic, blood. The room looks like his, only bigger, and with a view out toward the mountain. It's dark now, but the snow is bright in the soft orange lights. There's a western-style bed pushed up close to the hospital bed. The sheets are wrinkled. Sonia's head and face are bandaged up and she's intubated; all he can see of her face is her eyes, taped closed. 

There are actually two people in this room, a woman – obviously a doctor - and a priest. Arthur has seen the face of the priest before. Sonia dreamed him up during their extraction on her. 

“Arthur, this is Dr. Morash,” he says, introducing the woman. “And this is Father Montilla, Sonia's priest.”

“Hello,” Arthur says, shaking hands with both. “It's good to meet you.”

“You must be one of the dream specialists,” the priest says. “Thank you for coming. I've heard a lot about the healing benefits of dreaming. A bit like prayer, wouldn't you say?”

“Oh,” Arthur says. “Yes, it's a very exciting field.” He's not sure how much he knows about what they really do.

“Well, I hope you can help.”

“Me too.”

Arthur doesn't miss the way the doctor goes about her business of checking Sonia's readouts and does not acknowledge him any further, and has only cast one pillorying glance at the priest.

“Father Montilla is here only because I asked him to be,” Saito says. “In case we should fail. Sonia deserves the rites dictated by her belief.”

“Yes. Of course.” And as her confessor, he also knows who Saito is to her. Why would he agree to come, knowing that? _Well, for money, obviously. A huge donation. That's how you win over the Catholic church._ Money may be a shitty motivator, but it still works in cases like these.

“Father Montilla,” Saito says, “you've known Sonia since childhood, haven't you?”

“Yes, I've been with her family for many years.”

Saito turns to Arthur and spreads his hands. “Now you have met my team.”

There's a moment of silence, where the doctor is still staring at her readouts, the priest goes to look out the window, and Saito just keeps staring at Arthur, like he knows that Arthur wants to see the last person on the team. He gives Arthur the barest acknowledgment, just a slow blink: _Yes, go ahead,_ and Arthur approaches the hospital bed.

He remembers her face the way it used to be. She was beautiful; he saw it even then, even when she was his mark. He's not sorry, exactly. He isn't the one who hurt her. The extraction, years ago, hadn't harmed her. She never learned that she betrayed Saito in her dream, and, in fact, it was Saito who had been playing them the entire time. So it was he who betrayed her.

And maybe that's why Saito's feels like he owes her this. 

Some tight, painful knot unravels in Arthur at that thought. Yes, he will go back and search through priest's background, but he'll probably come up with nothing. 

Later, in his room at the ryokan, he does come up with one tidbit. The priest had gone after someone in court, for extortion. But it had been settled, and then purged from the system. He doesn't like it, and he's going to bring it up to Saito and Eames. 

But for the time being, Arthur closes his laptop and decides to let it go. He's going to do the job. He's been in dodgier situations than this and come out on top. Hell, he's been on jobs where he knew betrayal was around every corner, and still made it through. 

Now it's time to concentrate on doing it right. He'll never do that if he can't get rid of this headache and get some sleep. Eames might be off dreaming whatever with Jared Blue-Eyes Thousand-Watt-Smile, but Arthur is really thinking about that hot spring on the other side of the ryokan. There's a heavy robe on his door, slippers in its pocket, and Saito did tell them to enjoy anything the ryokan had to offer. 

Arthur takes a quick shower to rinse the gel out of his hair, throws the robe on, sticks his phone in the huge pocket, and checks the hallway. No one out there. He heads down to the other side of the building, and out the back door. It's night, the moon is still bright. Snow covers the grounds, pristine, and steam rises from the hot spring, so thick that it glows. It's cold as shit out here. In his military days, Arthur and his squad had done the whole swimming through icy waters bullshit, acting all tough. But he hates the cold, and his dick feels like it wants to climb back up into his body. 

A split-rail fence runs the length of the spring, separating its rocky border from the dense bamboo on the other side. Arthur takes a look around, then shrugs off the robe and hangs it up on the railing. He toes off the slippers, and the rocks are so cold and slick it's almost painful, so he wades in quickly.

He's been in a hot tub in the winter before, but this is _better_. This is like being in fucking heaven. There are little shelves to sit on and the water is deep enough to go up to his neck. His headache is gone immediately. He would definitely come back here after the job. This moment is all his. 

Until about fifteen minutes later, when Eames, wearing a towel around his hips instead of the robe, and no slippers, comes out the back door and says, “Oh! Hullo Arthur!” 

 

** ** ** **

 

Arthur is smirking at him like Eames knew he'd be out here, and honest to god he just wanted a nice relaxing dip. But there's Arthur, sitting all warm, and smug, with his hair wet, and soaking up the moonlight like some kind of vampire. Some kind of wet, naked, smug vampire. And he's staring at the towel.

Oh well. Eames throws off the towel and hangs it beside Arthur's robe. Arthur is not shy about taking a look at him as he steps into the water beside him. Still, they're on the job, so Eames leaves some space between them. 

“You're not allowed into one with all those tattoos,” Arthur says.

“Psh,” Eames scoffs. “Saito told me to come. I'm sure he knows I'm not Yakuza.”

Arthur makes a “hmph” noise, as if he can't be sure himself that Eames is not Yakuza. He is so ridiculous sometimes. Eames likes him ridiculous.

“You're looking somewhat more relaxed,” Eames says.

Arthur shrugs one shoulder out of the water, and Eames catches a glimpse of those old scars. 

“I talked to Saito,” Arthur says. “And, you know, we've been on way worse jobs than this.”

“True,” Eames says. “No one's shot at us yet. We don't have to go running around cities, chasing information, drugging people, getting drugged by them. The mark is already asleep, and, after all, we are trying to do something helpful.”

Arthur waves his hand. “Yeah, that, too. So you went under with Jared Serafino?”

“Yeah, a while ago.” It's funny how he refers to him with both names like that. Eames had left word with Saito and Tadashi to tell Arthur, if he came looking. 

“And?” Arthur's got that smirk, and one eyebrow up. He's annoyed, but he won't say it. No, not just annoyed.

“Really, Arthur,” Eames says. “That you'd even think it.”

The smirk turns into a scowl. “I wasn't until you brought it up, asshole. I was just asking if you found anything out about him.”

Eames wants to laugh at him, but doesn't dare. “If you must know, I did a little digging. I wouldn't say I tried to extract from him, exactly. I just wanted to see if anything turned up.”

“Did it?”

Well, something did, namely that Jared had tried to have a bit of a romp with him in the dream. When Eames had deflected him, Jared had said, “Is it Arthur? Are you serious with him, then?” and Eames had honestly not had an answer for him. But, there's no reason to tell Arthur that, particularly since that's not what he's asking. After the job, when Arthur's got less on his mind, then he'll bring it up.

“Nothing,” Eames says. “I left him to it for a while and went around as a projection. I didn't have time to try any other tricks, and he's militarized.”

Arthur stares ahead, just about to be fretful again, flicking his thumbnail as he concentrates. Then the lines on his brow smooth again. “Well. I guess we're doing it anyway.”

“I suppose we are.” 

The water sloshes around as Arthur shifts down a little lower, getting the water up over his shoulders to stay warm.

“What was it like in her head the last time?” Eames asks. “Her feelings toward Saito.”

Arthur thinks for a moment. “Guilt. Love, I guess. It's hard to tell what love feels like in other people, but guilt is pretty easy to recognize. She went straight to confession in her dream. Saito's got her priest here in case she dies. She's religious.”

“I wonder if her family even knows she's here.”

“She separated from her husband a few months after the extraction,” Arthur says. “I was never sure if we caused that or not.”

“I don't think you could,” Eames says.

Arthur levels him with a glance. “Really? Because if Dom can make a woman jump out a window, it's possible to make someone leave their husband, too.”

Eames isn't about to rise to Arthur's temper. “Yes, but I still doubt it. It was her idea to go to confession, so the guilt was there before you even went in. And even so, is that so wrong? It was an affair. The marriage was probably shaky to begin with.”

“Not necessarily,” Arthur says. “Saito's isn't.”

He's got a point there. Saito's marriage is still fairly solid, and his wife takes lovers, too. 

“You can love a person, and still feel desire, lust or whatever for other people,” Arthur says. His eyes flick up to Eames, and then back toward the forest. 

“Seems like too much bother,” Eames tells him.

Arthur looks at him again, conciliatory this time, and opens his mouth to answer, but whatever he's going to say, he never gets to. The ryokan's back door opens again, and Jared Serafino comes out wearing a bathrobe and slippers. 

“Oh!” he says, looking between them. “Fancy that. Am I interrupting?”

Arthur straightens his spine, losing the easy slouch he was sinking into.

“Not at all,” Eames says, with a gesture. “The water is lovely.”

“Right. Well then.” Jared slides his bathrobe off and hangs it over the railing next to Eames's towel. He's in no rush to get into the water, and if the cold is bothering him, he's not showing it. He's built just the way Eames remembers: very fit, taller than the both of them, a bit wider in the shoulders than Arthur, chiseled rather than muscular. “Not too busy after all, eh?” Jared says.

“Yes, well, bit of free time tonight.”

“Arthur,” Jared says, “have you seen that Saito brought in a doctor, and a priest?”

“Uh, yes,” Arthur says, because even though he's annoyed, he's a professional and not as much of a prick as he pretends to be. “I met them earlier.”

“Ah. Must have been when Eames and I went under, then. Just after our dinner.”

And yes, Jared had brought dinner round to Eames's room and he'd had a bite with him. Fortunately, Arthur doesn't rise to this. Eames takes a second to look Jared over, because this isn't about Eames at all, whatever he's up to. He gives it a minute. Taps into his intuition. No, definitely not about him.

It's about Arthur. What is he trying to get out of Arthur? Why would he want to rattle him before an important job? It's not like the Jared—rather, the Ian—that he remembers. 

“Yeah, it probably was,” Arthur says. 

“What did you make of them?” Jared asks. 

Arthur gives Eames a subtle glance. “Nothing much; we didn't really talk. They aren't going under with us.”

“They're strangers to me,” Jared says, “and when I searched for them, nothing came up. I found that odd. Malpractice, drink-driving, assault... it's always something. But clean slates, both of them. Is that what you found?”

“Uhh, actually,” Arthur says, “that's not exactly correct. There was something a few years ago with Father Montilla. He went after someone for extortion. But I was thinking, Sonia's family is political, and he takes confessions. Someone was trying to get something out of him.”

“That would be before your inception job,” Jared supplies. “Or around the time. Go on.”

A slight pause as Arthur processes this, but then, if Jared works for Saito, then it's possible that's how he knows about the Fisher case and what came before. 

It doesn't seem likely that Saito would spread that around to his workers, though.

“That's it,” Arthur says. “That's what came up. The details were redacted. I'd need more time to find out what it was all about.”

“And we don't have it,” Jared says.

“I guess not.”

So much for a relaxing dip. Arthur's fidgeting and ready to get up. Eames has only been in for a few minutes, but it's time to wrap this up. 

Arthur makes the first move by saying, “I've been in here for a while, so I'd better get going.”

When he rises out of the water, it's completely without shame. He's long-since past worrying about the burn scars on his shoulder, arm and hip. Eames has seen them tons of times already, but Jared hasn't and Arthur doesn't seem to give a shit. 

He looks beautiful tonight. And Jared gives him only a cursory glance and then looks toward the trees. It's not out of respect for privacy, or shyness; he's distracted. The guy Eames knew would have leered a little, or at least raised an appreciative eyebrow. But – nothing. And maybe Eames is a bit biased when it comes to Arthur's naked, wet arse, but this is still unusual. 

Arthur's silent alarm has been tripped, too; Eames can tell. He slips his robe and slippers on and heads back toward the door. 

“Big day tomorrow,” Arthur says. “Get some sleep. See you two tomorrow.” He steals a quick look at Eames, makes eye-contact. _Before tomorrow._


	4. Chapter 4

It comes to Arthur in the middle of the night, just as he's about to drop off to sleep. He texts Eames. Then he gets up, pulls on some clothes and his coat, opens the silent shoji screen, and goes into the anteroom for his shoes, but leaves them off. He carries them as he leaves the room. 

Eames is waiting outside the door, looking perplexed and worried. Arthur holds a finger to his lips and beckons him to follow. They walk the length of the hall, to Sonia's room. Arthur taps lightly on the door. 

The door opens and Saito looks out. He opens his mouth to speak. Arthur gives him the same gesture: _Shh. Follow me._

Saito glances back to the room, with all the hissing and beeping and hospital stench. Then he takes his coat and shoes, and he and Eames both follow Arthur.

Arthur leads them out the front of the building, past the parked car, over the path, and to the bridge over the stream. The moon is far west now. When he thinks they're far enough from the ryokan, he turns to face them both.

“What?” Eames says.

Arthur looks to Saito and says, “What was Sonia doing in Japan when she had the accident?”

Saito blinks at him. “She is a business woman. She had business here.”

“Okay,” Arthur says, waving his hand. “What happened to her car?”

“She lost control of it. The police said--”

“Are they investigating?”

“Oh god,” Eames says.

“Yes, of course,” Saito says. “She is a diplomat, of course they--”

“What happened to her car after the accident?” Arthur asks. “Who took it? Who's looking at it?”

Arthur sees the moment Saito gets it, too. But instead of following that thought, he asks, “Why did you bring us out here?”

“Because,” Arthur says, “Jared Serfino came into the hot spring naked, he didn't have any wires on him. I switched robes on our way out to make sure his robe wasn't wired either, so he's not the one listening in, which means that the bugs, the cameras – they're somewhere else. In the ryokan.”

“That's impossible,” Saito says, and then something moves through the air and Saito lurches forward, gripping the red railing. 

Arthur puts out a hand to steady him, but Saito is already halfway to the ground, down on one knee. 

“Fuck,” Arthur says, and then a second later the unmistakeable soft _pop_ of a projectile pierces the air. Eames clutches at his shoulder. 

Arthur pulls him down and takes cover. 

“We've got a few minutes before it hits you,” Arthur says. 

“Dormivel,” Eames manages. 

“Yeah, I figured.”

“Go!”

“No!” Arthur hisses. “Where, for fuck's sake?” Does Eames expect him to jump into the fucking river? And leave him and Saito behind?

Light blasts through the darkness, illuminating them. Arthur stands, holding his hands up, and says, “Don't shoot. I won't run.”

 

** ** ** **

 

Eames wakes up tied to a chair with professional grade zip ties, alone in his room at the ryokan. He has no memory of how he got here, but does remember taking a projectile to the shoulder. Still hurts a little. So they drugged him, and Saito—he has no idea what happened to Arthur yet—and dragged them back here unconscious. Or, it's a dream. Or both. He looks down at his hand and tries to change it to a different hand. He can't forge. Which doesn't mean he's _not_ in a dream, necessarily, because certain compounds can alter his ability. Without a totem, there are other ways to tell, like checking light-sources, physics, looking at clocks. But tied to a chair, there's not much he can do.

Better rectify that first. He tests the bonds. They seem real enough. _Two birds with one stone, then,_ he thinks, and tucks his chin to his chest. Then he tips his chair over backwards and crashes to the wooden floor. It should work as a kick to wake him, but all it does is jar his bones and hurt his shoulders. So either he's awake, or drugged to the balls. 

He turns the chair on its side, then front, then stands up, with the chair still tied to him. With all his weight behind it, he smashes the chair legs down in the floor. They break off easily.

Now he's just got wooden slats strapped to his arse and his arms, and he easily works his ankles free. Then he's got two chair-arms tied to him, but that's not so terrible, since both arms and hands are free to move. All he has to do is squirm his wrists and hands out and he's free.

It's his own room that he's in, but they've cleared out his stuff. No weapons, and there's sure to be some kind of guards or militia lining the halls. That was no amateur bullshit, taking shots at them from the forest. They had taken him _to_ the ryokan instead of away from it, so they also got past Saito's security and probably killed a number of them. 

He remembers Arthur surrendering to them. Silly bastard, probably tried to talk them into a deal or get information before they did whatever they did. He'll panic about that later, once he finds Arthur. 

There are doors that lead out the back of his room, but if there are guards in front, there are guards in back, too. He's not about to wait around, so he casts around the room for anything that might serve as a weapon. For Eames, that means anything. He did stash a steak knife under his mattress, as he always does when he stays at a hotel. He retrieves it, then heads to the bathroom. The shower has a hose. He rips the entire thing out of the wall. They must have heard it, but that's all right, because he's ready for them. 

The only way he's really fucked is if they have guns and they want him dead. But, if that were the case, he'd probably be dead already.

They get to the room before he can even get out of it. The first of them, a tall, blond man Eames has never seen before, asks him in English, “What are you doing?”

Eames answers, “Erm, escaping,” without permission from his brain. 

“Don't bother,” the stranger says. “The whole area is surrounded.”

“Who the fuck are you,” Eames says, “and why shouldn't I wrap this hose around your neck?”

“Because I'll only wake up and then come back down,” the man says.

Eames can't tell if he's bluffing or not, which makes him more nervous than anything else so far. He can always tell. He feels dull, cloudy. Drugged. If this is a dream, where are all the projections? Or maybe this is a projection?

“And because there's someone who wants to see you before we go,” the man adds.

“Go? Go where? And whoever it is can fuck off, you can't extract from me if I already know you're here.”

“I don't need to extract anything from you,” says an all too familiar voice from outside the door. “I've already extracted from Saito. You're collateral damage, I'm sorry to say.” 

William Everest Manwaring II walks into the room.

“You're not a projection,” Eames says to his father. Which is fucked in so many ways; what he wanted to say was that his father _was_ a projection. But his brain knows it's not true, and the truth came out of his mouth. He tightens his grip on the shiv, and the metal shower coil. 

“No, I'm not,” his father says, and levels him with his dead, shark eyes. “And this extraction is over. We got what we needed from Saito--”

“Oh, I doubt you did,” Eames says, and he must really believe that, because there it is.

“We did, actually, due to the drug that is making you spill all of your thoughts, too. Unsettling him with his lover's 'accident' made him vulnerable and put him where we needed him. We didn't know he would plan to use the PASIV to save her, but people are unpredictable, aren't they? Sometimes. Other times, you can just look at a man and know exactly what he's going to do. Your friend Jared—I'm sorry, Ian Harrington. He's married now, did he tell you? Get hold of what a man wants, and he'll do anything for you. Wouldn't you have done the same? When I bring in your lover, you'll do anything to stop me hurting him. Won't you?”

“Of course I would,” Eames says. “But that's not going to happen, either.”

His father doesn't answer. He stares, looking somewhere at the top of Eames's head, like he always does, and says, “It must have left a scar. When I shot you.”

“By far not the first scar you've left on me,” Eames says.

“You and your criminals had come to extract from me. I don't know what you expected.”

“Well, you're a piece of shit,” Eames says, and that is one thing he would have said, drugged, dreaming or not. “So, what? You've come to finish what you started, I suppose.”

“To kill you, yes. Saito was our mark, but two birds and all of that. I _knew_ you couldn't be dead. That's my boy, eh? In an odd way, I'm proud of you. I've made you strong. Your mother, too. I knew she couldn't be dead, either.”

Eames wants to deny that, but what he says instead is, “You stay away from her.”

His father laughs. “I've no plans for your mother, William. I loved her. Still do.”

“You pushed her down stairs.”

“That doesn't mean I didn't love her.” He heaves a sigh, and, for the first time, sounds old. Looks old, really. “Well, that's that, then. Can't shoot you topside – that would lead to an investigation. You'll die in an accident, all of you. I'm sorry, William. I always did enjoy knowing you were out there surviving somewhere. I do mean that.”

Eames believes him. “You're mad,” he says. “And you've made me mad, as well.”

His father shrugs. 

That's when Arthur comes in the door behind his father, and it's a bloody good thing that Arthur is quick, because Eames can't hide anything. He stares, his father turns, and Arthur shoots him in the thigh. His father screams. Arthur shoots the other man who came in before his father, this one in the knee. Then he kneels, stuffing something into his father's mouth to shut him up. He does the same to the other man. 

“Can't have either of you getting up,” Arthur says, and then adds, “and I also wanted you to feel some pain.” 

Then he grabs Eames by the arm, leaving the two men writhing on the bloody floor.

“Arthur?” Eames says.

“Let's move,” Arthur barks. “Talk as we go.”

“I can't seem to say anything but the truth,” Eames says, as Arthur pulls him down the hall.

“I know. It's part of the cocktail they shot you with.”

“But we are dreaming?”

“Yes. They extracted some information from Saito, something about Venezuela, political bullshit involving Sonia's husband, who knows? I don't care. They put me under with somnacin, but I got kicked awake. Woke up to find them all tied up on the floor, along with Jared Serafino. Two of their guards dead.”

“Who woke you? Who killed them?” Eames asks, his head spinning.

“Tadashi,” Arthur says. “I went back under to find you and Saito. And also because we have one thing left here to do.”

“What's that?”

“The job we came to do.” He pulls Eames further down the hall, toward the dream-room where Sonia should be, topside.

Eames pulls back. “We're still doing that?” 

Arthur turns to look at him. “Sort of, and it has to be quick. There could be more of those assholes on the way. Tadashi is going to put her in the dream with us.”

“It's never going to work,” Eames says. He's still reeling. His father showed up in a dream and was about to kill him, he's tied up topside right now. “I can't forge,” Eames says. “I can't even concentrate. I can't do anything but stand around and say what's in my head.”

“That's all right,” Arthur says. He turns to Eames and kisses him, one hand on his face. “We can hold the level steady while Saito goes in with her.”

“To do what, though?” Eames asks.

“To say goodbye.”

 

** ** ** **

 

Arthur never forgets a face, but William Everest Manwaring II has a special place in his “to fucking kill later” files, so when he's the one standing over Arthur and sticking a needle in his arm, he gets bumped to the “to fucking kill asap” level.

The old bastard has a PASIV, which means he's got plans for Arthur, and probably for Eames, down in the dream. Arthur doesn't have time to wonder what they are. When he gets in, someone has already reconstructed the ryokan. It's a shitty job; he could have done better.

But before he even gets a good look around, he's waking up on the floor. Tadashi's got a hypo jammed into his thigh – Somnixolone, probably, to wake him up immediately. 

“What...?” Arthur stammers. He takes a look around. He could only have been under for a minute or so.

Eames's father is bound and unconscious on the floor of Sonia's room, along with the rest of his team, and Arthur is really confused. He actually sputters a bit, but that could be the effects of the various drugs.

“I was hiding,” Tadashi says by way of explanation. “You hired me for that, back in the day, you know?”

“Uhh. Yeah.” Arthur looks around, bleary. Saito is already under, reclining in a chair. 

“I saw them bring you in, with Saito, and I waited for a moment to ambush the ones who were awake.”

“The priest,” Arthur asks, “and the doctor?”

“I got them out the back way. Are you going to finish the job? With Saito. I'll guard topside if you think you can get it done. I'm not waking these assholes up, because I don't want them causing me any problems up here.”

“It's not going to work,” Arthur says. “Saito's idea, with Sonia. There's not enough time.”

“He knows,” Tadashi tells him. “He wants to go under with her anyway.”

Arthur decides to go, even if it's just to get Eames out. Whatever drug they used on him is keeping him under; Somnixolone won't be enough. Eames might be confused in there. And he's down there with his shithead abusive father, so who knows what's going on.

“Hook me up,” he tells Tadashi.

When he gets into the dream and sees Eames's father standing there, having a conversation with him like everything is normal, it brings Arthur the greatest pleasure to shoot the legs out from under the son of a bitch. He will never forget the moment, years ago, when this crazy shithead turned his shotgun on Eames and pulled the trigger. His own fucking kid. 

Arthur's not going back up without Eames. He'll wait it out until the drug wears off.

And while he's down here, Saito still needs them, and it seems like his job isn't going to take very long. Arthur leads Eames down the hall to the dream version of Sonia's room, just to let Saito know they're in with him. He taps lightly at the door.

“Yes,” Saito says. 

Arthur opens the door. Sonia is sitting up on the bed, still and silent, but aware. 

“She's in a coma,” Eames whispers behind Arthur, “and she's present in the dream. Which means...”

“Yeah. We're three levels under.”

Saito turns to them. “You didn't have to.”

“We want to make sure you get out all right.”

Saito smiles a little. “You'll get your pay either way.”

“That's not why,” Arthur says, annoyed.

His smile softens. “I know.”

Eames comes to stand next to Arthur. “Is she...?”

“Dying,” Saito says. “The men who extracted from me. They took her off life support.”

Eames falls back a step; Arthur can actually hear him catch his breath. 

“What can we do for you?” Arthur asks. 

“Nothing. You can wake up.”

“I don't feel comfortable leaving you three levels down. You have to wake before she dies.”

Saito looks at Sonia, then back to Arthur. “Then give us a moment.”

“Sir,” Arthur says, and closes the door as softly as he can. He turns to Eames.

Eames has that look, the one where he is miles away even as he's staring at you. His anger burns hot and pure. Lesser men would back away from him. Arthur puts a hand on his arm and says, “Save it.”

Maybe Eames is going to save it, or maybe he's going to go storming down the hallway of the dream. They never find out, because that's when the walls dissolve. They just fall away before Arthur's eyes, floating into nothingness like flower petals. The rest of the structures surrounding the ryokan appear here and there, surrounded by light. Light? Or dark? Arthur can't tell.

Right. This was faster than he'd expected this far down.

“We have to get topside,” Arthur says. “She's dying.”

“We're sedated,” Eames says. 

Shit. _Shit._ Eames doesn't know that they didn't use the drug on Arthur; that he's only using Saito's compound and could kick himself three levels up. Arthur can't tell him. Eames will tell him to go. Fuck, Eames will _make_ him go; he'll shoot him to wake him up. 

“Right,” Arthur says. 

A tremendous lurching sensation almost pulls his feet out from under him, like gravity has stopped working. No, not gravity – dimensions. He forgets how to breathe, forgets even what oxygen is. Topside, this is probably all happening in the space of thirty seconds to a minute. Down here, who knows how long it will take, or what will happen to them if they go through it with her?

“Saito,” Arthur says. “We should go and get...”

“Saito made his choice,” Eames tells him.

Arthur looks at him. Panic sets in. He doesn't know what's going to happen and he has no idea how to proceed. What if she takes them down with her? 

“People have died on the PASIV before,” Eames says, but Arthur can tell he's scared, too.

“But,” Arthur says, “those people either came back, or everyone else kicked themselves out of the dream. We're not waking up until it's over.”

Well. He could. But he'll never do it. He won't even say it.

Arthur feels weightless, not only physically, but in his mind; all of his thoughts are fleeing his brain, diffusing into the space around him. Everything is flashing, like lightning strikes, but at the same time he can't tell dark from light from colors. 

“What do we do?” he asks Eames.

Eames looks around. The only thing left of the ryokan is an after-image of the onsen. “There,” Eames says. “It'll... it'll ground us in reality, yeah? We'll remember that we're in a dream, but that there's a real world up top.”

Arthur nods. Holding onto Eames's hand, he goes to take a step towards the onsen, only to find they are already in it.

“Stay focused,” Eames says. “Don't lose track, just... just focus on me, all right? And I'll focus on you, too. We won't get lost.” He takes both of Arthur's hands and squeezes them tight. 

It might hurt, but physical sensation melts away, bleeding out of him into the nothingness.

Arthur tries to ask 'What will she see?' because there's a part of him—of everyone, he supposes—that is curious, and wants to know. But he can't form words. And then, words become nothing, and thought is gone, too. Everything flees, save for a feeling of existing, somewhere.

He stares into Eames's grey eyes, until the concept of “eyes” is gone, and all that remains is grey.

All ideas shrink in the face of infinity. How could he have been so foolish in life, to worry, to fret about anything? Money, betrayal, sickness, death. All of it so small, it might as well not exist. Everything is a dream anyway, and the dream is safe. This space is safe.

He is calm. At peace. He _is_ peace.

_Death is nothing. Remember this. Remember this when it's over, don't ever forget it, hold on, hold on._

Eames is no one. Is everyone. He has no name, is not a woman or a man or even one single person. He's a child, cowering from his father. He's a stranger on a train whom Arthur watches pass by once, and then never sees again. He's an old man on a porch, holding Arthur on a swinging chair. He's a blonde woman in heels, walking by Arthur on some nameless street. A king. A vagrant. A murderer, killing Arthur in a thousand ways, over a thousand lives. Saving him in a thousand other. 

And Arthur—or a thing that used to be called Arthur—is the same, and does the same. 

Life--this illusion, this thing he thought of as real--he's gone through it before. Alone sometimes, with others sometimes, but most often with this – this other dream, this dream that calls itself human, that, this time around, calls itself “Eames.” 

Meaningless words. 

They are together, and together they are safe. Nothing new is ever created, and nothing is ever destroyed. He knew that once, in what used to be his reality. He knew it in thoughts, in words, in logic. Now he just _knows_ it. _Is_ it.

He can't breathe, but breathing isn't necessary. Nothing is necessary. Only the grey, and continuing to be. _Hold on, hold on._

Then:

Motion returns. Gravity. Dimensions. Time – not yet, but the concept of it exists.

He exists.

Arthur exists. 

He takes a breath. Air exists. 

The hot spring. His mind. The dream, what's left of it. Still there. 

Exhale. 

Grey.

Eames. 

Inhale. 

“Eames?”

“Yes.”

“Are you...? _Are_ you?”

Eames's face swims into focus. “I am.”

“Did you see... Do you remember?”

“I felt it, yes. I don't remember, though.”

“No. I don't remember either.”

Sensation. Eames gripping his hands. His vision expands, senses return. Heat from the water. His heartbeat. The tingle of blood returning to his limbs.

“Just as well,” Eames says, breathing out. “To not remember it. I suppose we'd go mad.”

“Yeah. But I felt it. I know I felt it. Whatever it is.”

“It will always be there,” Eames says, “in the back of our minds, yeah? Knowing...whatever it was we knew.”

Arthur nods, trying to hold onto it, but it's fading. He squeezes Eames's hands harder. 

“Dream's collapsing,” Eames says.

“Yeah,” Arthur agrees. “We should... Do you smell smoke?”

 

** ** ** **


	5. Chapter 5

Eames comes awake to smoke and fumes, the blaring of an alarm, and the sound of a scuffle. He opens his eyes and they start to water. He pulls his shirt up over his mouth and flips over to crawl on the floor. So far, the smoke is only hanging around the ceiling. There are no flames in this room.

Reality. His fucking life.

His father's people did this. Set him up to die once he got what he wanted. Fuck.

“Arthur?”

A grunt, a thud - a body hitting the ground. More scuffling. The smoke isn't too thick to see what's going on: Tadashi's wrestling with someone.

Then he sees Arthur getting to his knees and patting himself down. No gun. Arthur runs to help Tadashi. Saito is motionless, though with his eyes open, reclining on the bed next to Sonia's. He'll have to wait.

Eames doesn't know who Tadashi and Arthur are trying to subdue—one of his father's goons, probably--but he gets himself on his feet. The entire room spins under him and around him. He hasn't shaken the drug off yet.

By the time he gets to them, they've already got the man subdued. Arthur disarms him. Eames looks around, bleary and ill, to see what's coming next. He freezes.

His father is lying on the floor, still hooked up, as the room continues to fill with smoke. 

“Eames,” Arthur says. 

Eames tears his gaze away from his father.

“Focus,” Arthur tells him. His eyes are getting red. 

Saito still hasn't moved. Tadashi pulls his shirt up over his nose and mouth, and goes to Saito. Eames hears something about “more on the way,” just as the door bursts open.

He can't see who they are, because smoke billows in behind them. He can, however, see that they're wearing smoke-masks, and carrying guns. Fire brigade don't generally carry guns. He and Arthur duck for cover, behind the bed, just as a shot thuds into the wall behind them.

Arthur returns fire and hits one in the chest. Eames hasn't got a gun, his mind feels fuzzy and his hands can't seem to keep still, but Arthur fires off two more shots, hitting one guy in the leg and the other in the neck.

 _Two people just went to wherever we came out of,_ he thinks, though he's not sure if he believes it.

His father is still lying there on the floor.

Arthur and Tadashi are now beside Saito, and together they start unhooking Sonia from the machines.

“Leave her,” Eames rasps, “she's gone, come on.”

“We can't leave her body,” Tadashi says. “Investigation.” He starts coughing.

When Saito blinks and looks around, his eyes look so lost that Eames's first thought is that he finally spent too much time in limbo, this time with a dying woman. Eternities. Then Saito turns to Tadashi and says, “Get them all in the car.”

Tadashi easily lifts Sonia's body. For a ghastly moment, her eyes open and her head rolls back. Then her face is out of sight.

“Come on!” Arthur yells, pulling Saito by the arm.

Saito gets up, unsteady, but present enough. Eames takes another look at the man who brought him into this world.

“Eames,” Arthur says. When Eames looks up, he jerks his head toward the door. _Leave him to die. Move._

For a second, Eames aims the gun at his father's head. _Make sure. Just make sure he's gone._

He tightens his finger against the trigger. Just one more pound of pressure. 

But he can't do it. The old bastard got himself into this shit. He either gets out, or he doesn't, and none of that is on Eames. His father would call him weak, if he knew.

He runs. Arthur takes the lead, and Eames pushes Saito in front of him.

“The PASIV,” Saito says.

“Leave it,” Eames says. He knows well enough how a PASIV can malfunction when someone dies inside of it. It will look like an extraction gone wrong; if his father lives (unlikely,) he'll have to answer for it.

Tadashi is already down the hall, having gone toward the back of the building, where the fire hasn't spread yet. The other way out is blocked by fire; at least they can be sure no more of his father's gangsters will be coming that way. 

There's another body on the floor, and Arthur damn near stumbles over it. He stops, and Eames stops, too.

It's Jared. Arthur looks at him.

“Fuck,” Arthur rasps, and together they lift him. 

“Cover me,” Eames says, pulling Jared's unconscious body over his shoulders. 

He pushes Saito ahead and keeps Arthur at his six. They get out through the back door, where the cold and fresh air sting his lungs almost as badly as the smoke. To where the hot spring is.

 _We died there,_ Eames thinks. But he keeps moving. Over the slick rocks. Over the railing, with Jared still across his shoulders. Down the ditch, into the icy stream. 

“This way!” Tadashi shouts.

They follow him through a gully surrounded by towering bamboo, around the side of the ryokan, and to a small clearing, where a car is parked. Arthur swings around in front of him, his gun at the ready.

Tadashi throws Sonia's body into the front passenger seat, gruesomely careless, and gets in the driver's seat. Eames throws Jared into the back, equally careless. Arthur follows.

They take a moment to check Jared. He's got a pulse; he's breathing, but he probably took in more smoke than they did, being in the main hall. 

“Where?” Arthur asks.

“Hospital,” Tadashi says.

“Wait.”

But Tadashi has already spun the car around and is driving away.

“Saito!” Arthur yells, banging on the back of Tadashi's seat.

“Don't worry!” Tadashi says. 

But Arthur is worried. He's got that frown, now smudged with soot. He looks to Eames.

“You all right?”

“Yeah,” Eames says. He's not. He's woozy from whatever shit they put into him, and he's still thinking about his father. 

“Eames.” Arthur's ' _stop fucking around_ ' voice. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah. Yes. Are you?”

“I'm great,” Arthur says. Then he sits back against the seat and presses his hand to his forehead. Clusterfucks like this always give Arthur a headache, even without smoke inhalation.

They're not a minute into the ride, going across a bridge, when the roar of another engine blasts behind them. They both jump up. Arthur grabs his gun again. Fuck, of course they're being chased now.

But Tadashi just gives a victorious yell as a black motorcycle screams up beside them. The rider is all in black: leather jacket, matte-black helmet with a reflective visor. The motorcycle pops a wheelie as it passes them. Eames only catches a glance at the trousers: black slacks, expensive, the ones Saito was wearing.

Arthur laughs, exhausted. “I thought he only did that in the dream.”

Tadashi laughs again. Sirens wail in the distance as they leave the ryokan behind.

 

** ** ** **

 

The hospital room is so quiet it's making Arthur's ears ring. That could also be leftover shit from the smoke he inhaled, too. But the nurses had gotten him and Eames (and everyone else, presumably,) cleaned up and oxygenated, and given everyone a place to get their shit together. Arthur had come into Eames's room—his own shit already together—to find Eames pacing.

Arthur now takes a seat next to the window. He hates when Eames paces. He hates it especially in a hospital room, after having nearly been burned alive on a job. They're alive. They're fine. Saito is alive. Jared Serafino is alive.

Eames's father? Well, he doesn't know. He hopes he's dead. 

It was bad enough that they had to take Sonia's body along with them, to avoid trouble with Venezuela. Hopefully everyone involved in the sabotage of this job is dead. If they aren't yet, they probably soon will be. Saito will make sure of it. He can't afford for this to get out; it would ruin him.

But something else is on Eames's mind, and Arthur doesn't need a whole handful of guesses to know what it is. He's never been able to compartmentalize the way Arthur can.

“Hey,” Arthur says softly.

Eames throws him a glance.

“I'm sorry about your father.”

Eames waves this off with an annoyed look.

Arthur sighs. “Okay. So?”

“Sonia was Catholic,” he says. 

“Uhh, yeah.” Arthur leans forwards, planting his elbows on his knees. 

“So, though we didn't expect her to die during the job, we did predict that she would have a Catholic experience in her last moments.”

“Sort of,” Arthur says. “We discussed the possibility that our own interpretations might skew hers. That's why we had to be so careful. What's your point?”

“We weren't careful,” Eames says. “We didn't have time to take that kind of care.”

“Okay, but we couldn't be expected to...”

“And we still didn't see or feel anything that we expected to.”

“Well...well, no, but I'm still not seeing what you're getting at.”

Eames sits on the bed across from Arthur and finally looks at him. “We—or at least I—did not see or feel or experience anything that _I_ expected. Nothing that happened in there had anything to do with any belief system I'm even familiar with, except possibly Buddhism. But I don't _believe_ in anything. I only know about them. Why did we see that? Why did we feel what we felt in the dream, as she was dying? Why did I come away from that dream knowing... or rather, feeling, I suppose, that something inexpressibly profound occurred?” 

“Because it did,” Arthur says. “Her mind died while we were in it. That's deeply fucked up, of course the dream went insane. It's nor surprising that we had, I don't know, an illogical or even insane experience.”

“It doesn't feel illogical,” Eames says. He's got that look in his eyes, the dangerous one that scares everyone else. Arthur gives it right back to him.

“Illogic never does.”

And then Eames just sighs and looks away. Arthur hates this, he hates when he doesn't know what Eames wants him to say, or when he can't say or doesn't believe what Eames wants him to say or believe.

“What are you thinking?” Arthur asks, because now he's just exhausted by this whole thing. “Just say it, stop—stop dancing around what you're getting at, stop asking me questions and posing riddles. I'm not going to figure out what you mean like this.”

“Forget it.” Eames gets up.

Arthur gets up, too, and grabs him by the arm. It's telling that Eames doesn't just shake his hand off.

“I don't want to forget it,” Arthur says. “I just want to understand.”

“What I felt was real,” Eames says. He still won't turn and look at Arthur.

“Yes,” Arthur hurries to say. “Yeah, me too. Feelings are always real. And I felt calm. I don't remember why. Or, I remember why in words, in my head. But the feeling, the _knowing_. Understanding it? I can't anymore. It's too big, okay? It doesn't fit. It's not supposed to fit. So just... just accept that it was reality while it was happening. But now we're _here_. In this world.”

“It's never going to completely leave my mind,” Eames says.

Arthur gives his arm a shake. “That's _good_. Or at least it was for me. Shit.” He laughs, feeling shaky now. “Maybe we got incepted.”

Eames turns to him, startled.

Arthur lets go of his arm, and smooths his hair back, turning away. “It's not such a bad thing to have in the back of your consciousness, though,” he says.

“We can't know that.”

Arthur shrugs. He's tired. He wants to sleep, wants to try to dream of it again. When he reaches for the feeling, it dances out of his grip. But it's there, at the edge. He can't keep chasing it. If he could get back to the ryokan, maybe he could recreate that feeling of peace. But the ryokan is gone now.

“Maybe we felt something different,” Arthur says. Eames's sadness has infected him, as it always does. 

“Arthur.”

“Because what I felt... It wasn't bad. I just felt...” _Safe. Complete. Known._

“Overwhelmed,” Eames says. 

And, yeah, Arthur gets that. It was profoundly overwhelming, and hell, Eames is way more sensitive than he is. “Well,” Arthur says, “maybe I'm just not deep enough to fathom whatever the hell that was, or maybe...”

Eames rounds on him, stalks over, pointing his finger in Arthur's face. “No. Don't you dare put those words in my mouth.”

Arthur slaps his hand away. “Fuck you, I'm not putting anything in your mouth.”

Eames starts to reply, then snaps his mouth shut and turns away, because he can't help smirking at that, and neither can Arthur. The tension dissipates like smoke.

Arthur says, softer now, “All I'm saying is that maybe we felt something different, or maybe I'm just ready to be overwhelmed. Eames. Come on.”

Eames takes a seat on one of the hard chairs, looks Arthur in the eyes and gestures magnanimously for him to go on.

“We have to get out of the country,” Arthur says. “Where are you going?”

Eames blinks in surprise. “Well, I... err...”

“Take me with you.”

A short, almost exasperated but fond laugh, and then Eames says, “I haven't even said...”

“Take me with you.”

“Arthur, listen to me, I haven't even...”

“I don't care. I really don't. Mombasa? The States? A secret hideout in a sewer somewhere? Whatever. Take me with you.”

Eames gets up, saunters over to him, and even though Arthur knows what's coming next, it still just about burns him alive when it happens. Eames is kissing him, pulling Arthur's hips against his by his belt loops, and it's hotter than the fire they just ran from. When Arthur kisses back, tugging at the short hair at the back of Eames's head, Eames arches into him. _Jared Serafino has nothing on me,_ he thinks, with a smile that Eames can probably feel.

When they pull away, Eames is smiling too. “Smug bastard,” he says. “You know I can't ever say no.”

“You can,” Arthur says. _You have before_ , he doesn't add. “But, why would you? Whatever happened down there, maybe it was really important, or maybe it was just a drugged up dream and it doesn't mean anything. Maybe we'll stay together and be awesome forever, or maybe we'll take time apart sometimes, or break up for good or whatever. But we should give it a try, you know? A real one.” 

Eames goes in for another kiss, but stops before he reaches Arthur's mouth. He pulls back.

_Christ, now what?_

“Arthur, that 'drugged up dream,' yeah? When I woke from it, I felt like shit. Still do. You seemed to function at a normal pace, and... you know, I never saw them hit you with that first dart.”

 _Oh. That._ “True,” Arthur says. “I should have realized that. Maybe your experience in the dream was more...”

“That's not what I'm... Arthur. You could have left the dream any time.”

“Oh. Uhh, no, not really. It happened really fast. I mean I guess I could have gotten myself out of the dream, but by the time I got to you, and unhooked you from the PASIV that Sonia was on, well, with the time dilation three levels down it would have happened to you anyway.” He tries to figure out the math in his head, to see if this is true. Is it? Yes, it seems to add up; he still would have been leaving Eames to go through it alone. 

“Yes,” Eames says. He gives Arthur a little shake. “To _me_. Not to you. You could have gotten yourself out, you silly bastard.”

“I don't leave my team behind,” Arthur says.

Eames eyes have that glint in them, that sparkle, and even though there's something too deep to look at right now ( _grey...grey_ ) it's a look Arthur recognizes.

“Am I your team?” Eames asks. 

Arthur rolls his eyes. “Yes, asshole. You are my team.”

“You do have a way with words.” Eames releases him from his arms and from his gaze. “My Mum's,” he says.

“What?” There's a cool spot all down the front of his body, the void left when Eames gave him space. Outside the window, snow begins to fall again.

“That's where I'm going,” Eames says. “To Swansea. I've got to tell my Mum about Dad, you know? That he's gone. Or I think he's gone. Or I hope he is.”

Well, Arthur feels like the asshole now. “He... Yeah, I'm sure Saito will... Swansea, yeah, of course. I didn't think. Maybe you want to see your Mom alone.” 

“No. That's all right. What I mean is, please come with me. My Mum would love to see you.”

 

** ** ** **


	6. Chapter 6

In early Summer, Eames got an email from Saito.

Rewind. Months before that, Arthur came to Swansea. As Eames predicted, his Mum had been delighted to see them both. And even more delighted at the news that her ex-husband was probably dead.

“He was rubbish,” she had said to Arthur, as if Arthur hadn't shot William Everest Manwaring II in the thigh during the dream, for the sole purpose of causing him pain. An act of torture, really, when Eames thought it over. Again he felt that there was some of Mal in Arthur; that they were similar in ways he didn't care to dwell on. He didn't mind about the shooting, though. It said as much, or more, about him, as it did about Arthur.

After a week in Swansea, Arthur had taken another job in the States, and then he had visited Cobb for a while. Then he'd gone to see his family, while Eames took an extraction job, using Yusuf's compounds, which Eames swore by, and vowed to never use compounds not approved by him.

In late Spring, Jared Serafino called him. Told him he was sorry, so sorry, only he had to protect his family, hadn't he? And after all, it had ended well, right? Eames's father was likely dead and the “good guys had prevailed” (his exact words, Eames would like to note, while rolling his eyes.) And that he hoped Eames was well, and Arthur was lovely, by the way, and were they still together? He hoped so, and again he was so terribly sorry for what he had done.

When the phone call ended, Eames felt nothing. Not pity, not anger, not even really forgiveness. None of it was necessary. He would have done the same thing to protect Arthur, if he couldn't come up with something better. The difference was, Eames could have certainly come up with something better. Still. Not Jared's fault that he was shite at his work.

He missed Arthur, though, so this time, he called him. They talked for an hour; Arthur was on another job, with Ariadne this time.

“Can I see you,” Eames asked him, “when the job is over?”

“Yes, absolutely,” Arthur told him. “I would love that. Maybe we could just, I don't know, go somewhere together or something.”

And then Saito's email came, and Eames thought, _I don't want the job. Whatever it is, I want nothing to do with it._

But it wasn't a job, it was been an invitation. Saito had paid them well enough that they could each live comfortably, without working again, if that's what they wanted. Not in the kind of luxury that Saito enjoyed, but comfortably enough. An invitation back to Japan seemed out of the blue, and Saito didn't make clear exactly what he wanted. His words were, “I'd like to give you my thanks in person.” Whatever that implied.

But Eames went, and Arthur went, too. This time, they did not meet at the airport; Arthur had come in on an earlier flight, and Eames arrived in the afternoon. This time, it was warm, humid, though it would cool off at night. The trees were full and lush. This time, Tadashi did not pick them up; a stranger did. Still, the car went in the same direction: Towards Takayama, and Eames had such a feeling of deja vu that he had to try to turn his mind off for a moment. It wasn't just 'I remember traveling down this road six months ago,' rather it was the feeling of an event repeating itself. Of coming back to something he had already done.

And when the car pulled up to the same ryokan—rebuilt and restored in the space of six months—he almost didn't want to go through the front door.

But he had, and, once inside, everything in him had quieted, like waves on the sea after a storm. He _wanted_ to be here. Strange, considering what had happened here. But maybe not – also considering what had happened here.

And now Eames is watching Saito come down the same hall, this time looking fit and well; and this time with a woman. She's around Saito's age, and lovely, with the same regal bearing. Eames remembers her from his research on Saito from the Fisher job: his wife, Yoshiko.

“Mr. Eames,” she says, before he has the chance to say anything. She offers her hand, which he takes. “How nice it is to finally make your acquaintance.”

“My wife,” Saito says, “Yoshiko.” As if he doesn't know that Eames already knows.

“A pleasure,” Eames says, and doesn't know how to follow up, because what can he possibly say to her? ' _I'm sorry for your husband's loss_ '? or ' _I only knew Sonia from when she died, but she seemed very nice_ '? How much does she know about the job they did for Saito? 

“You mustn't feel awkward,” she says, her eyes crinkling. “My husband and I would like to thank you and Mr. Calloway for everything you did.”

Ah. So that's how it is. Eames knew beforehand that Saito's wife had a lover of her own. They are open about it, then. That makes it easier to take.

“Yes,” Eames hurries to say. “Yes, yes, we only did what we could. I'm sorry it didn't turn out for the better.” _Because my weak ex lover betrayed us to my psychotic father._

“I'm sure you're very tired,” Saito says. “We won't keep you. We can talk later, after you've rested. Arthur arrived this morning. He took a very late flight.”

“Yes,” Eames says, “I've got to ask you first, though: What is this about?”

“My husband would like to thank you,” Yoshiko says.

Eames scratches at the back of his head. He really could use a shower, and a good long sleep. “You've paid us already.”

“Paying and thanking are two different things,” Saito says. 

“Of course,” Eames says. “Well, thank...” He's too tired for this conversation right now. “Right. Later, then.”

He makes his way to the room by memory. The smell of smoke lingers here and there. It did the first time, too, from the fire-pit in the main room. But this new smell has a hint of oil. It's barely there, and he only catches the scent once or twice. 

His room—it does feel like his, for some reason—has been entirely redone. It's still got the same layout and the same feel, but the patterns on the linens are different; new table, long, dark wood; white upholstered chairs; dark satin pillows; pendulum light – all different. The shower has also been remade. Like yesterday, Eames recalls the dream: pulling down the shower hose to use as a weapon. 

After he takes a shower, a strange kind of exhaustion overcomes him. Overtired, perhaps. He sleeps for a while, but not too long. He wants to be able to sleep during the night.

He wakes still exhausted, desperate for rest but unable to unwind. He slips on the light, summer yukata that's hanging in the bathroom. The thought of lying in this bed alone drives him to go back to his door, and peek outside. It's quiet now, as if they are the only guests here. The last time, he'd felt the noise and presence of the others: Tadashi, Jared, chefs, the medics, the priest, Sonia herself. But now, there's no interference.

Just Arthur's room across the hall.

It's early evening by now, and there's no one else here. He locks his door anyway, takes his wallet with him, and gently knocks on Arthur's door.

It only takes a few minutes before he hears Arthur's footsteps, the slide of his shoji screen into the anteroom, and then he's opening the door.

Arthur's in his sleep pants; his smile is open and knowing. He's wearing glasses, and his hair is six months longer, and slightly curling. He steps aside with a little incline of his head, and sweeps his arm out in a gesture of welcome. He doesn't speak, he just goes back to his bed and closes his laptop. So, he's been awake for a while. 

Without a word, he gets into bed with Arthur. The AC is on, but it's still warm enough. Arthur never cranks the AC too high; he's always cold. They lie on top of the sheets.

Arthur's got the curtains drawn, but the warm, yellow-colored lights outside the window offer enough light to see that Arthur still has that same quiet, knowing smile as before. It doesn't leave his face as he raises his hips and pulls his sleep pants off. Eames slips out of the yukata and turns to him.

He hasn't brought anything. No condoms, no supplies, nothing. He really hadn't given this visit much thought. It doesn't seem to matter anyway, not when Arthur rolls on top of him and takes him in hand. 

It's been months. They had spent a night at a hotel in London after visiting Eames's Mum, and there he had turned Arthur face down on the bed, and then once in the shower the next morning, in the shower, where Arthur had fucked him until the water ran cold. And before that – six months also. This is the second time Arthur has touched him like this in a year.

Time moves so fast. They've wasted so much of it already.

“Arthur,” he whispers, when Arthur twists his hand just so.

Arthur makes a sound of assent against his lips, lines them up to take both of them in his hand. Eames reaches down too, sliding his hand over Arthur's. 

“Why did we wait so long?” Eames whispers.

“We're idiots,” Arthur says, his voice strained. He ducks his head down and breathes hard against Eames's neck. 

It doesn't escape Eames's notice, even now, that Arthur didn't bother to ask ' _Wait for what?_ ' They've had sex before. That part isn't new.

He skims his free hand down Arthur's arm, down his hip, where he's marked by burn scars. Slides his hand up Arthur's back: more recent scars there, thin, raised lines. Again Eames feels the urge to murder anyone who has done harm to Arthur. He focuses that rage into passion; now isn't the time for those feelings.

“It's all right,” Arthur says anyway, and starts sucking on his neck – which, _fuck_.

He knows he's going to say it, just let the words out of his throat, where they've been stuck for years: “Arthur, I--” but then Arthur is coming all over their hands, whispering, “Yes, _yes_ ,” and Eames follows him down.

Bad form to say it during sex anyway, he thinks, when his head is a little more clear.

“Dinner?” Arthur asks, sleepy against his shoulder.

“Yes, absolutely,” Eames says. “And then onsen.”


	7. Chapter 7

Eames soaks in the hot water, watches Arthur wash off in the outdoor shower, and thinks, _He googled 'what to do in an onsen'_. The idea of it makes him feel fond and indulgent. 

It's evening, the sun has set and it's cooler now, otherwise Eames wouldn't be able to stand being in the hot water. 

Arthur still takes a furtive look around before standing up. It's not modesty or shame, just the paranoia that never leaves him. Never leaves either of them, if he's being fair. 

That swagger, though, when he walks over, smiling like he knows. 

“Hey,” he says, stepping into the water. “Isn't this too hot for you?”

“Don't flatter yourself,” Eames says, and leans his head back against the rocks. 

Arthur snorts, and doesn't deign to reply.

The door opens again, and Saito steps out. They both about jump out of their skin. Eames gets his shit together slightly before Arthur does, when Saito strides over to the showers, just as naked as the both of them.

“And now we can discuss to the reason I asked you here,” Saito says, as seats himself under the running water and rinses his hair.

While he's got his head ducked under the water, Eames takes note of Arthur staring openly, appraising. He looks at Eames, one eyebrow up. _Check it out, not bad,_ Eames can just about hear in Arthur's voice.

Arthur might have googled what to do and what _not_ to do in an onsen, but he's clearly all right with oggling their host. It's so tacky that it's amusing. Still, Eames has to admit it, too: not bad.

Once Saito is done rinsing, he joins them, sinking down onto the rocks with a sigh. “Ah,” he says, “now we can talk. Hadaka no tsukiai, yes?”

_Naked communion_ , which Arthur clearly has also googled, because he nods.

“Good,” Saito says, once he ascertains that the American is not uncomfortable – or, judging by the small smile that's becoming so familiar, maybe that was his aim. But Arthur just rolls with it.

“I brought you all the way out here to properly say thank you.”

“This is quite a lavish 'Thank you,'” Arthur says.

“It's not,” Saito says, seriously. “I was the one who brought Jared Serafino onto the team. He worked for me, and someone else got to him and I never saw it. I lead your father--” he nods to Eames--”right to your doorstep. In my haste to get the job done, to do what I felt was right by someone I had wronged, I made grave mistakes. No, this 'thank you' isn't extravagant. It's barely adequate. Adequate would be to give you joint ownership of the ryokan, with me.”

After a moment of silence, Eames says, “You can't be serious.”

“I am perfectly serious, Mr. Eames.”

“It's too much,” Eames says, with an air of finality. “We can't.”

“It isn't,” Saito says, “and you can. If you don't want to, then of course, that's different. You don't have to accept. But if you do want to, then I hope you will. For me, the ryokan is meaningless. I've got two more. But I think it means something to both of you. Am I wrong?”

He's not, so Eames says nothing. Arthur just sits there, looking stunned. 

“The money I paid you is nothing – a pittance,” Saito says. “I don't say this to boast. Money is meaningless to me. The job you two did was meaningful. Will you take the offer? You would have a safe place to come after jobs. Privacy. Close off a building or two and take it for yourselves. Immunity, as well.”

Which all sounds wonderful to Eames – but there's something else, the Unspoken Thing. What happened here, in the dream. Saito hadn't seen any of that, or at least that Eames is aware of. Most likely not. But he might have sensed it. 

Saito clears his throat and says, “Or I could also pay you more money, and you can do with it what you please.”

“You've already paid us more than we ever got paid for anything,” Arthur says. “Well, me at least. I still have most of my cut from the Fisher job, so it's not like I really need more.”

“And so I'm trying to give you something that you might _want_ , and not be able to get for yourself otherwise.”

A few more beats, and then Eames says, “We'll talk it over, I think. It's a lot, I mean, we would be... Well, we're already well off, but with a thing like this, we'd be...”

“Safe?” Saito says. “Secure? Happy? That's what life is about, I think. I'm fortunate. Every human being has worries, about illness, accidents, death, leaving others behind. But my worries will never be financial. And my life is full, and happy. I can't say the same for Sonia. Perhaps that's why I tried to save her. I thought if she had more time, she might find contentment. I failed her in that regard. But we try to do better, don't we? If I can offer moments of contentment to those who tried to help me, then I must make that offer. It would be vulgar of me not to, particularly when I have nothing to lose.”

Saito stops talking, and leans his head back against the hot stones. The moon begins to creep over the bamboo, and the first tree frogs start to sing. 

“I love my wife,” Saito says, suddenly. “I know how it must have looked to you, Arthur, during that extraction. Our relationship is not complicated.”

“I never thought otherwise,” Arthur says, fidgeting a little. 

“Love comes to us in all different ways, doesn't it?” Saito muses. 

Arthur is clearly getting uncomfortable with where this conversation is going; Eames sees it in the quick glance Arthur sends his way. But Saito sighs, rolls his shoulders, and stands up. Arthur doesn't stare at him this time, though he doesn't look away, either. 

And neither does Eames, because why should he? Hadaka no tsukiai, after all, and he appreciates beauty in all its forms. 

“Too long in here and I get light-headed,” Saito says. “Will you get back to me with your decision later?”

“Yes,” Arthur answers. “We'll have an answer tonight. Thank you.”

 

** ** ** **

 

Once Saito is gone, Eames is the first to stand, saying, “It actually _is_ too hot for me.”

Arthur watches him rise, the water gleaming on his skin, sliding down the dark of his tattoos in the warm, orange light from nearby lanterns. 

_How did I get so lucky?_

Instead of going inside, Eames goes up to the wooden railing and leans against it, looking out over the forest. Thinking, or waiting for Arthur to say something. Hard to tell.

It's getting chilly now and Arthur doesn't exactly want to get out of the hot water, but he's got to sometime. He dries off and reaches for the yukata once he's out – none of this standing around naked in the evening chill for him. He walks over the cooling stones to stand next to Eames, and watches the moon rise over the bamboo.

“I don't want to rope you into anything you're not on board with,” Arthur says. “But I think I'm going to take it.”

Eames nods, but doesn't look at him. 

“Is—is that all right with you?”

“Arthur, you hardly need my permission.”

“That's not what I'm asking and you know it.”

Silence for a moment. Arthur waits it out. And finally Eames says, “What is it about here?”

“I don't know,” Arthur admits. “I liked it before the dream, though. Before we saw – whatever.”

Eames turns to lean against the railing, finally looking at him. “We never really talked much about that.”

Arthur shrugs. “What's the point? We're not going to figure it out past the logical conclusions we already--”

Eames waves his hand, frowning. “I don't even really mean how or why it happened. Someone died on the PASIV. Not the first time it's happened, but we were in the dream, three levels down, so we were bound to experience something. That's not what I'm after.”

“All right.” Honestly, Arthur hates when Eames gets like this, but he's trying to get used to it. Really making the effort to be patient and not rush him to say whatever the fuck is on his mind. Because Eames is brilliant, and his own brilliance frustrates him, and he'll get around to it.

“Arthur... so, however it happened, and whatever it was that we saw, or felt... I believe some of it was true. I believe at least that we really, for the first time, _saw_ each other.”

A knot forms in Arthur's stomach. 

“Which is not illogical,” Eames goes on, “and doesn't necessarily have to have some kind of transcendental explanation. The compound, the chemicals, the depth of the dream. All perfectly mundane, yeah? But it still happened. We went deep. What we saw and felt and understood about each other – it was real.”

“I-- yeah, I guess so. Yes.” Arthur swallows past the lump in his throat. “So, what did you see? When you saw me. Was it...?” _Terrible? Too terrible?_

Again, Eames takes his time answering. Standing there naked as Adam, while the chill starts to settle into Arthur's bones. 

“Everything, I suppose,” Eames says. “At least for a moment. You. Your life. The things you've been and done, the things you might do, or become. I'm not sure what the rest of it meant. Honestly, Arthur, I saw people who were not you. Who felt like you, but couldn't have been.”

Arthur nods. “Yeah. Like a past-life or alternate-reality hallucination, or something. I had that, too, with you. I don't know what it was. Maybe just a normal part of the unconscious mind; projections, things like that. Like when normal dreaming takes over.”

Eames turns to him, his eyes direct and intense, so grey that Arthur has to force himself to keep looking. “What was I?” Eames asks. “What was I to you?”

“Umm. I don't know. Lots of things.”

“Good? Bad? Both?”

“Both,” Arthur says. “Look, it doesn't matter to me.”

“It matters to me,” Eames says. “The things I've done in _this_ life. The people I harmed. The lives I took. What happened to Sonia, that death? I've caused that experience in others. I've ended lives. I very nearly decided to end my own father's life.”

This? _This_ is what's on Eames's mind? Arthur must be looking at him like he's insane, because Eames is the first to look away. 

“How is that not chasing you away?” Eames asks. “You saw it all. Everything I am.”

Arthur takes his arm, squeezes his bicep and gives him a little shake. “Listen, I've pulled the trigger, too. Eames. It's why I'm still alive. It's while you're still alive, too. The work we do...”

“Yes,” Eames says, “the work. We get involved with people who want to hurt us, so we hurt them first.”

Arthur stares, his mouth hanging open. And here he thought they were going to talk about the huge commitment of accepting an extravagant gift from Saito. “Okay. Yes. Or – no, at least not in the very few cases I can think of.” 

Eames has got his brows drawn together, his mouth tight, fists clenched. This is spiraling out of Arthur's control so he does the only think he can think of to do. He slides the yukata down and turns his back to Eames, and, god, he hates this, really utterly hates purposely showing these scars. 

“Most of the time,” Arthur says, “we get hurt first.” He holds still, waiting.

Until finally he feels the delicate, almost ticklish touch of Eames's fingers skimming over the thin, straight-line scars on his back, down to the burn scars on his hip, and then up again, to the matching scars on his shoulder. 

“I happen to like everything you are. Okay?”

“I've done things that some would consider evil,” Eames says, his voice so low, a whisper.

“I don't care,” Arthur says. “I really don't fucking care. What is it you think you need for that, Eames? Penance? Forgiveness?”

“No,” Eames says. “Nothing like that.”

Arthur turns to face him. “Then what?”

Eames pulls the arms of Arthur's yukata back up, gently, and pulls it closed. “I'm in love with you, Arthur.”

“Yeah, I know that, asshole.”

Eames blinks. “I never told you. I never said the words.”

“Yes, but I'm not an idiot. I've knew it before you did. When we met. Which, by the way, was about when I fell in love with you. So? Is that a bad thing? I'm not seeing the problem.”

“No,” Eames says, softly, running his hands up and down Arthur's arms. “No problem.”

“Then...?”

Eames pulls him closer, slips his hands inside the sleeves of the yukata and kisses him. The kiss goes on long enough that Arthur has to stop for breath.

“Okay,” Arthur says, “what?”

“I like profound, complicated things when they happen to other people. I don't deal well with them myself. Saito lost his lover in this place. I found mine. But what happens when I lose you? What will become of me?”

“Why are you even thinking that?” Arthur asks. “I'm not leaving, and if you think I'm about to up and die, that's just—it's stupid. It's such a waste of time to think that. What makes you think I'll go first? Maybe you'll get hit by a bus tomorrow and I'll be the one begging a team to get me into limbo to convince you to live.”

“Arthur...” 

“Maybe I'll be the guy doing crazy things then, huh? Stealing you from a hospital and setting you up in...”

“Arthur.”

“...calling in every favor I can and offering people entire hotels in Japan if they'll just help me get you back. What if I'm the one sitting there wondering what will become of _me_? You can't spend your life...”

“Arthur!” Eames has a smirk on his face now, one that Arthur wants to punch.

“ _What?_ ”

“You _are_ the guy doing crazy things, most of the time.”

Arthur shoves him away, not hard, but enough to get his point across. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Eames runs a hand through his damp hair and laughs – at himself, this time. “I don't know. We both do mad things in this job. I don't think we'll ever stop. Every job we pull is going to have some element of madness or danger.”

“Yeah, we live on the edge or whatever. Does that mean we don't get to stay together?”

“What? No! Did you think that's what I was saying?”

“I don't know what the fuck you're saying,” Arthur says. “We were supposed to just talk about whether or not we were going to take Saito's gift. And I want to. You don't have to if it makes you uncomfortable. That's perfectly okay with me.”

It isn't, exactly. Arthur is a little in love with this place, he loves the idea of using it as a safe space to lie low, or just to take a break, but he wants to lie low and take breaks with Eames. Not alone. But, he'll get used to it, because Arthur adapts. That's what he does.

“I do want to,” Eames says. 

“I mean if you... What?”

“I want to. I want to have something like this, permanent and safe. It doesn't really matter if it's here, or somewhere in the desert, or a broken down home in the woods of New York, or a cave somewhere. As long as it's with you, I don't care where it is. But you seem attached to this place.”

Arthur sputters for a few seconds. He'll cop to that. “But I thought you said... You loved it here. Skiing, you said you liked to come here and go skiing or whatever.”

“Yes. Skiing is nice.” 

Eames has his indulgent voice on and Arthur isn't clear where he gets off acting like Arthur's the one losing his mind here, when Eames had only moments ago been ranting about how evil he was and what he would do if Arthur died. He tries to go back over it, and see where the conversation shifted. 

_I'm in love with you,_ is what he comes up with. That was Eames's big turning point? To Arthur, that's not anything new. It's been like that for so long, for him. Like the scars. It's just part of him, background information. _From New York, work in dreamshare, pulled off inception, in love with Eames._ He's been dealing with it since the day he met him.

“I feel it now,” Eames says. “Whatever it is that draws you here. I get it.”

“So,” Arthur says, “great. Awesome. We take his offer, we can come here after rough jobs. And we can go skiing or something.”

“Or something,” Eames says, and kisses him again.

The moon rises, the air cools, the mist from the hot spring turns gold in the light from the lanterns. _Theirs._

This space is safe. 

They are together, and together they are safe.

Seconds, or years, and Eames just keeps kissing him. 

This time Arthur lets it go on.

 

** ** ** **

 

~~End


End file.
